Lovers Of Darkness
by Imagination86
Summary: Anastasia Steele is an undercover journalist who's only mission is to unravel the truth about the mysterious Christian Grey, follow the story of her finding out about his bizarre secret. Ana & Christian.
1. PREFACE

**PREFACE**

The bottle stood proudly on the mantle piece – enticing the weak man who sat slumped in his favorite armchair. His right hand shook while grasping the square crystal glass that cradled the liquid poisoning his brain. His balled up fist and clenched expression formed the mask of aggression which vibrated through his body, causing his foot to tap involuntarily against the cherry wood floor.

The fire crackled through the silence, a glow of orange and red illuminating his dead eyes. The ocean blue irises, that caught a glint of silver moonlight through a crack in the curtain, darkened, allowing the pupils to swell unnaturally. It was a result of the toxic substance that flooded his veins, saturating his body with destructive thoughts that lead to vicious outbreaks.

I quietly watched from afar as his hand swept through his perfectly combed honey-blond hair, twisting the locks so they sat in an untidy mess on top his head. His thick fingers roughly brushed the dark circles which hinted at his exhausted state. A deep sigh came from under his breath followed by a swig of the dark amber piss that flowed through his intoxicated lips.

I stare at his uncaring pallid face through the reflection in the mirror that hung low over the mantle. He was colorless, not a hint of health within his dull skin. His bulbous nose was scorched red, his cheeks the chubbiest I had ever seen.

His body shook drunkenly as he slowly raised himself from his seat. I instantly froze – paralyzed by his movements. I stay crouched in my hiding place, praying he won't find me. I know it's only a matter of time before he'll come looking for me. The upstairs bedroom being the first place on his list. And the thought has my stomach twisting and turning sickly.

What'll he do when he can't find me?


	2. Chapter 1: First Impressions

**A/N – Thank you all for reading. I plan on updating this story every Tuesday. Please review to give me feedback! See you next week. Camilla 'Millie' Rose, Xx.**

 **Disclaimer: _ I don't own any characters or anything _**

 **First Impressions**

I couldn't be more out of place. I don't belong here. I shouldn't be here. This is no place for a woman like me. I belong behind a keyboard, writing creatively. Not standing here like a muppet; observing.

I wince as my borrowed designer heels pinch into my feet, my dress constricting around me like a tight vine swirling around a tree. I discreetly fix my breasts that I struggle to keep contained within the seams and smooth my fingers over the satiny material of my gown, hoping the lines of my Spanx can't be seen.

I stand like a loner on the high balcony looking down at the activity below. The prestigious Four Seasons Hotel in London was lit up galore and buzzing with atmosphere. A gleaming white and black checker-board dance floor took centre of attention in this vast room, having dozens of impressively dressed tables surrounding it. A small stage rested behind the dance floor that held the Jazz band who welcomed the guests with an excited tune. The bar was nothing short of what you'd see at a high-end nightclub. It was sleek and it's slick white marble slabs reflected a moody blue light that set the ambiance.

Everyone wore expensive attire. The women floated seamlessly in their designer gowns with flawlessly painted faces as the men looked dapper in their polished tuxedos.

I gaze impassively at the many excited faces who glow in delight at being apart of such a distinguished gala. It's easy to see who are the newcomers and who has been around the block a few times. The men and women who glance around in awe, trying hard not to look too impressed, grin smugly as they grasp a glass of expensive champagne. While the others portray a picture of ease, almost like this is a weekly occurrence for them – and maybe it is.

A hush comes over the room as the main man of the night takes his first step down the grand sweeping staircase. His gray eyes glide over the room discreetly, analyzing who is around him. He wore a well fitted customized tailored designer tux with shined black and white oxford shoes to match. His shoes beaming against the sparkling chandeliers that hang low against the high ceilings. His movements are effortless as he travels stylishly down to the main floor, circulating with the people who great him warmly.

In such a crowded room of well established people he shines like a beacon in the dark. He was the one person who stood out among the rest. From the way he wore his suit to how he carried himself as a man was so different from everyone else. He was truly unique. Every conversation that he held, people were enthralled with what he had to say. Most hanging on to every word he spoke, giving him their utmost attention.

Christian Grey; The Financial District's Most Eligible Bachelor – was easily crowned the most popular man to hang around with. One picture with him in the newspaper and your status was elevated to higher levels.

He was the most wonderful mix of gentleman and bad boy. A loud personality whilst being laid back and serene. His etiquette was faultless. Always polite and manners on point; a great hint that he was raised by a good woman. Although, he had his rough edges. He wasn't always calm, cool and collected. He was hot. His temper could flare easily and swing from North to South and back again in a nanosecond. He had a habit of seeing women as disposable pleasures, but their were a few he kept recycling. Something told me that these women were his benefits of friendship.

The many stories that ran around London about him and his well-endowed member would have any woman squealing in delight at the prospect of jumping into bed with him. Apparently, not only was he blessed below the belt but he knew how to use it with skillful rhythm.

Those chiseled handsome looks, along with his powerful success and broad range of vintage cars that come with a hefty price tag would turn the eye of any woman. Even for myself it was hard to stop staring at him, his jawline was a dream to look at. So strong and sharp.

I stay positioned on the balcony, making an effort to look casual. It's a hard thing to do when I'm battling an internal war with myself. I have always been a bad liar. A transparent human being. It's so easy for people to wrestle the truth out of me, just by my facial expressions alone.

Standing here as an undercover journalist with a false name, I feel like I'm burning in a pit within hell while desperately trying to keep my cool. I've always been a crap liar. The fact that this event had strictly banned all media outlets, journalists, and all other sources of press made me feel like I was not only sinning to the lowest low, but at a charity event helping children in need made everything I was doing so unforgivable. I was on high alert trying not to get found out.

Concealing to the three-hundred people around me tonight that I'm not a journalist was going to be a hard lie to perform. I take care of the social pages of two different magazines and have been forced to come here by my publishing house in the effort of gaining the information to write an article about tonight. And the target is Christian Grey. My boss seemed to have a fixation with him, constantly wanting to write some elaborate story but never getting the edge. Christian was too clean cut, nothing too juicy about his life. He was just rich and his lifestyle was impressive but you could only write so much about that before it became boring.

I gaze down at Christian walking the room confidently, mingling with ease. His conversations are lighthearted and classic social fluff. All bullshit, just a different day. The same conversations spoken over and over again just said in a thousand different ways.

His usual floppy mop of dark hair was slicked back into place, gelled into perfection. The collar of his crisp white shirt was buttoned tight and decorated by a velvet bow-tie. He looked the part – a dapper gentleman.

The trophy on Christian's arm looked the farthest from happy. It's as if they've had a spat before arriving. The way her plump lips are curved downward but trying to stay light and composed gives off a mixed facial expression. She seems icy. The way she clings to him possessively, warding off the many women who shine a beaming smile in their direction tells anyone with a brain she's insecure.

As she should be; Christian Grey is never seen with the same woman twice.

She walks with stiffness cementing her shoulders, not looking as graceful as you would expect on the arm of such a high standing gentleman. Her golden locks were swept up into an elegant bun while her face was painted with harsh makeup – almost as is she were trying too hard. Her under eye makeup was so thick and her eyes were coated with lashings of mascara, all to hide the crows feet that decorated her under eyes, making her look her age instead of young and fresh like the man beside her. It was no secret that Elena Timber was a few years older than Christian, and instead of owning it, she tried desperately to look younger. Even her gown screamed early twenties instead of late thirties. She was too old to be wearing skin tight silk with a high slash showing off her boney right leg, not to mention her false breasts sitting high for attention.

As the Master of Ceremonies chimes over the microphone, calling everyone to attention, I notice an odd exchange between Christian and a man he is conversing with. The way they shake hands is odd, their fingers linger too long and their smiles are too broad, conveying a certain falseness that's tainted with smug smirks. He looks up to no good . . . but goddammit I'm too high up and too far away to know anything for sure.

I slowly move from my position and try my best to saunter towards the staircase. I groan in agony as my heels leave me crippled. My walk is all over the place. My body leans heavily forward on my toes to take the pressure off of my heels and my knees are slightly bent in a graceless stance as I struggle to move forward. Every step is like being pierced with a hundred pins. How do some women do this all day long?

I straighten up as best I can and move my body weight back on my heels, hoping that'll even out my discomfort. And to my pleasant surprise I'm feeling a little more stable. I take the staircase one step at a time, too focused on not falling and completely disregarding the many women who watch me with unimpressed expressions.

I fight off the blush creeping onto my cheeks and walk through the throngs of people. I try my best to keep my eyes on Christian, finding it a lot harder to do than when I was upstairs. But I have to start mingling. I have to look like I'm here to party rather than look like some CIA agent.

I find a spot in the corner of the bar, holding a glass of champagne and letting my eyes wander. I flicker my gaze to the ceiling a few times, trying to make it off as if I'm impressed with the decor. Christian moves towards the donations box, standing in a privately capped cubicle as he is handed his cheque book by one of his henchmen.

I frown when seeing his neighbor eyeing the pen in his hand as he writes his cheque. Clearly the anonymity of the donations isn't so private and I briefly feel bad for him. Must he have everyone eyeing up his wallet?

The gentleman next to him flushes when being caught and seems to clumsily blubber about not having a pen while patting his pockets in search for one. Christian looks displeased and hands him the one he has just finished with before stalking off.

The way he whisks Elena into his arms and maneuvers her to a quiet corner intrigues every part of me. They're fighting. The way her face becomes rigid with whatever he is saying showcases her displeasure. Christian's lips move fast and her eyes follow suit, her jaw clamping tightly shut with whatever he is saying.

It doesn't take her long to compose herself. With a swipe through her up-do, falsely checking if her hair is still perfectly in tact, a delicate shimmy of her shoulders – as if to shake of the tension – she's back with her glowing white smile and paints the perfect happy image as she snakes her arm around Christian and clings off of him while snuggly cozying into his side.

I look around, nobody seems to have noticed their encounter but me. _How odd!_

I sigh as the MC comes over the microphone again, ordering everyone to sit for the dinner service. I discreetly check the inside of my wrist where I have scribbled down my table number – 21. I squeeze myself through the flurry of activity and search for my name card, sitting where I have been placed.

Couples I have never met before surround me. Our table is oddly mixed. Some are obvious newcomers and others have been through this too many times before. I sit awkwardly, each person on either side of me talking with their companion and treating me like I'm invisible.

I gulp harshly when seeing Christian and Elena approaching. _No way my boss got me a seat at the same table as them . . . he must really want me to get some sort of story for him if he has pulled this many strings to get me at the main table_. Maybe this is why our table holds twenty-four people and not twelve like all the others?

My eyes peeked up at Christian when he leaned back in his seat with a heavy sigh falling from his mouth and being drowned out by the music. It was easy to know he was bored by the conversations going on around him, his interests elsewhere as his eyes scanned over the women around our table. Most of them were married, so I didn't know why he was bothering to eye them up. Then again, it is the twenty-first century, most marriages and relationships are stained with one or two infidelities. What irked me was how he ignored his date. Elena seemed oblivious to his wandering eye, but it didn't go unnoticed by me when she cocked her eyebrow in his direction when his eyes lingered too long across the room.

"Are you following any of this?" the woman beside me asked in a timid voice. She seems as new to this as I am.

"Yes." I sip my champagne. "I think so." I look at the MC moving his mouth, wishing she hadn't interrupted my quiet inspection. "Would you like me to explain?" I politely offer. I'm positive I can make short of the spiel sounding out over the microphone.

"Please." she squeaks with embarrassment.

I instantly feel bad for her and make simple of the exemplary over dressed words that the MC speaks into the microphone, talking all about children's rights and equal healthcare for all. She pats my hand in thanks when I finish, sinking into herself as Elena gives her a hard look from across the table. It's obvious she is not impressed by are hushed discussion – _I didn't think I was whispering too loud!_

I blush from my roots when Christian's eyes land on me. He looks me over and within an instant his eyes flicker elsewhere. _Well, I'm not dumb_. I don't look the part and I know I'm nothing extraordinary. There isn't really anything to look at when it comes to me. I know he's wondering to himself what in the hell I'm doing here; a plain jane stuffed into a designer gown which does nothing to compliment her.

I snap my eyes across the table, wanting to get a glimpse of his sexy jawline and am surprised to see him staring back at me. He doesn't look away when I meet his eyes, instead, our eyes lock in an intense gaze that leaves me breathless. His gray irises control mine, penetrating my surface and exposing me so that I feel transparent against him. I fight with my eyes against his fierce will to surrender me to nothing, for his eyes to overrule mine. It's almost like we're playing chicken – who will break the contact first?

In the corner of my eyes, in my peripheral vision, I see Elena elbowing him in the ribs. She's soft at first before giving him a harsh dig in which his eyes break unwillingly from mine to glare displeasingly at her. She gives him a look I don't understand. Saying something without saying anything at all. Christian's eyes cross the room again, and I see his neck tilt before becoming still. It's almost like he wanted to nod to himself but stopped the minute he realized he isn't alone. _What the hell is going on with all of these gestures? First the suspicious handshake and now the nod?_

What is he up to?

The MC made his exit as the band began to strum their instruments before erupting into full song as a soft voice crooned over the microphone. It's mellow tone had me relaxing into dinner, my appetite bursting with excitement as a gorgeous roast lamb with mixed vegetables presented itself beautifully on a plate in front of me. Soft chatter around the table started, two of the gentleman getting into an argument about shipping finances. Christian was quick to throw water on their fire, reminding them this wasn't the time to be talking about conflicting business plans, but a moment to invest their minds into the charity projects that had brought us all here tonight. His tone was authoritative and I'm not sure I liked it. Almost as if he were a teacher ruling over his students.

Dinner passes pleasantly, their is too much entertainment happening on the stage for serious conversations to take place. My eyes greedily scan the buffet-style dessert table, falling on my weakness. Freshly made mini doughnuts sit gloriously on a round glass plate, looking almost too good to be true. My fingers pick out two before my brain can follow. I sneak away from the table with an extra mini tart that I really don't need, but so desperately want. I bite into the delicious mini doughnut and rejoice when I pleasantly discover it has been filled with silky smooth cream.

"Enjoying yourself." Moody gray eyes comes back to our empty table with a boring range of plain biscuits. Not doubt an English trait. He'll most likely have them with his tea.

My eyes watch his as I eat. Embarrassingly I have my mouth full, and my cheeks are puffed like a chipmunk as I chew. I feel my face heat, a warm blush cascading over my features. I know I look the right piglet.

"It's wonderful to see a woman eat." He adds while watching my mouth. And I wonder if it's a dig towards Elena?

I hum, licking the whipped cream from my fingertip. "I love my desserts, especially whipped cream." I moan in glory of the taste, biting my lip as a hardcore flame turns my skin scarlet. I don't think I meant to sound so dirty.

"Doesn't everybody." He smiles broadly.

I giggle out of mortification. Not many can catch onto my naughty streak. And I know the champagne is helping bring out the naughty in me.

"Don't they just." I begin eating my tart.

I softly excuse myself from the table with a low voice, not wanting to interrupt anyones conversation after consuming too much food. I take one last look at Christian, our eyes meeting, and ever so quickly so he'd question it, I wink.

 _Did you just do that?_ My subconscious raises her eyebrows. _Yes_ , I respond, _it's the champagne_.

I struggle in the stall with my Spanx, grunting as I squeeze myself out of them just enough to aim my stream into the toilet without peeing myself. I wrestle them back up my legs and make quick work of fixing up my dress.

When I come back from the loo, the table is half empty. I sit awkwardly, the woman beside me that I used as a shield is no longer occupying her seat. And the man next to me has disappeared too. I look to the trio beside me and frown when seeing that they are locked into a battle of words. _No way am I getting in between that!_

I gulp slightly in surprise when Christian rises from his seat – I expect him to walk away – but instead he waltzes his perfect self around the table and lowers himself into the seat next to mine. I bite my lip to hold the unsteady breath that rises my chest rapidly. The smell of his Tom Ford cologne swirls around my nostrils, hypnotizing me into an internal mess. He smells delicious. His scent is spicy with a hint of musk that leaves a dominant masculine edge.

"Hello," he says in a smooth tone. "Christian Grey." he introduces himself, holding out his hand to shake mine.

"Hi," I whisper, taking his hand in mine and shaking softly. "Vanessa." I lie smoothly.

His eyes flicker in confusion for a moment before composing themselves. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Yes." I lie again. "It's quite the event." My voice is filled with awe.

"That it is." he agrees, narrowing his eyes towards the three people beside us who are now fully arguing with one another.

I jump against their harsh tones. _Jeeze, they're really going at it and at such a public event!_

Christian shakes his head in bewilderment. "They're talking about that woman at the bar. About her divorce." he stares into the distance. "Not like it's any of their business."

I follow his gaze. "The dark haired woman?" I question. Two women sit chattering at the bar, both failing to attract men. And I recognize one of them from a gossip article I published.

"Rebecca Wilson, ex-wife of Roberto Abbatelli. A man who inherited;"

"His fathers fortune." I cut him off, continuing for him, and looking straight at the woman we are talking about. I know who she is; I wrote an article about her. "The marriage went south when he over invested in manufacturing and she ran off with his rich best friend. He went to Saudi Arabia for a business meeting to try and save what he had left of his estate and when he came back he found them in a very comfortable position in the bedroom. He divorced her within two weeks." I take a sip of my champagne.

Christian sits back amused. "What did you say you did again?"

"I didn't."

He chuckles to himself. "Humor me then, what is it that you do?"

"I'm not sure I discuss that with complete strangers who don't even know my full name." I rest my elbow on the back of the seat, angling my torso in his direction as I rest my temple against my closed fist. "It would be the height of carelessness."

"Why?" His eyes are curious and invasive. He studies me.

"One can never be too careful of the company they keep." I chime.

He nods in agreement. "Well, it seems a little unfair." he pouts.

I smile at his cute expression; almost like an innocent child. "How?"

"You know what I do."

"Only because you publicize it in the papers." I contradict.

"More like the papers come running after me." he cocks an eyebrow as he takes a swig of his brandy.

"Well, they are known to flock a popular ass."

He grins. "And what an ass I am."

"You've got me there." I tease.

"Would you like to dance?" he questions with a smile.

His breathtaking smile is enough. My knickers have a pool of wet staining them and my inner thighs are damp with want.

 _So this is why so many women have been captured under his spell . . . he makes them feel this way, like the centre of the universe. Well, it won't be me in his bed tonight_. . . I shake my head. _Don't be another notch on his bed post, Anastasia! Fight the urge._ I will myself as I place my small hand in his and allow him to lead me to the centre of the dance floor.

I haven't a notion of where to look as people stare at us, not bothering to look away when I glance around at them. They stay transfixed on Christian who pleasantly ignores them.

"You get used to it." he whispers into my ear, his warm breath cascading down my neck.

Shivers of pleasure ripple through my body.

I close my eyes as our heads huddle close together, my lips just reaching his ear as his lips are so close they could graze my temple. I forget the crowd of people around us, being whisked away into a private bubble that surrounds us.

"How old are you?" he whispers into my ear and I stifle a moan as he boldly bites my earlobe so casually.

"Twenty-four." I answer automatically, unable to think of anything else.

"So young." he comments.

"Only a five years younger than you." I retort.

He smiles. "Five years makes a difference. I'm a boring old man at this stage."

"I doubt that." I mumble, being intoxicated by his expensive cologne. _He smells divine_.

"What do you mean?" Humour overrules his voice as he sways us to the edge of the floor.

"You seem nothing but young and fresh; the life of the party. Everybody wants to hang out with you."

"Popularity can be a curse." he says but I think he instantly regrets it with the way he frowns to himself.

"With the amount of women prepared to jump on you, I'd think it would be any mans dream."

He laughs, pressing our bodies against each other again. "I guess you're right."

I bite down on my bottom lip as I feel him pressing deliciously against me. He's so handsome, smelling so lovely.

 _Anastasia!_ My subconscious scolds. _Stop this. This is not you. Get a grip._

I slightly part our bodies, breaking the full contact. He smiles and I struggle to see why.

"You won't be sleeping in my bed tonight, Mr. Grey." I promise him.

His smile broadens. "I get it." he assures. "But what makes you think I won't crawl into someone else's? Or destroy my own sheets?"

"I'm sure you will."

"I hope so."

I'm surprised at the sudden pang of jealously I feel.

"Who will you end up with?" I blurt our before I can stop myself. I want to _see_ the woman he ogles and charms into his bed.

"There's plenty of fish in the sea." he shrugs, full of indecision.

I observe the people surrounding us, too many pinched face bitches glaring back at me. "They look like well dressed pirañas to me."

He laughs, a musical tone that warms my ears. "You could say that again." he agrees. "But, nevertheless, it makes a mans night more interesting."

"I would have thought; boring."

"And why's that?" he questions.

"It's too easy to hook a fish who wants to be caught. Where's the challenge?"

He smiles again, an earth shattering beam that'd knock anyone off their feet. He's too handsome for his own good.

"You have a smart mouth."

 _You'd be amazed by what I can do with my mouth, Mr. Grey_. I bite my lip, my chin dipping to the floor as my cheeks boil and flush with the tightening desire deep in my belly. I blink rapidly a few times, trying to get the erotic image of he and I out of my thoughts. _Get a grip, Anastasia_.

"That I do, Mr. Grey."

He continues to waltz us around the floor, and although I have too left feet, he controls me nicely so that I don't trip over myself or step on his toes.

I feel uneasy as he becomes quiet, brooding again. And I so wish to be inside of his brain. How can he connect with me one minute and be so distant the next? I don't understand. He's so confusing.

"What is it that you do?" he asks again with an abrupt tone, questioning eyes scrutinizing my features.

I examine his features in confusion and with the heat in his eyes I know I should give him some sort of answer.

"This and that, right now I'm studying English Literature." I lie for the second time.

"You're not a very good actress." he whispers into my ear, his arm squeezing my torso as he leads me to the edge of the dance floor and twirls me out of his arms before pulling me back in.

"And what part am I supposed to be playing?" I talk delicately into his ear, my lips scraping the flesh of his lobe.

He smirks widely.

"I know who you are." his eyes stare into mine.

"And who would that be?" I challenge, my lips only an inch from his.

"You're a liar, _Anastasia Rose Steele_." he speaks strongly in my ear, a definite tone.

I conceal the slight gulp that gives me away even more. I falter all too quickly before him, the way my face falls into shock and my smile slowly creeps into a grim line.

"I vet everyone who walks within a foot of me. _Especially_ journalists."

"What makes you think I'm here on business?" I change the course of our conversation.

"Why would you come under a false name?" he questions.

"Do you care that I lie?" I stare up into his eyes.

"No." he shakes his head with a shrug.

"Then why bring it up?"

"Because I'm wondering why you're here." he flashes a look of irritation. "You have _very_ observant eyes. And it bothers me. Why are you here, Anastasia?"

People were right about him swinging from north to south in a nanosecond.

I don't answer. I fall silent to his interrogation.

"My guess is that your company has sent you here to report back on this event; a _private_ charity event. Very little press is here, that's how we like to keep it. They pay to run the stories and the charity benefits from it. How do you think I feel having a rat running around the place? A company running the story free gratis for their own fucking benefit." he growls in my ear. "It's unjust."

I gulp against his tone, wishing the band would finish up this song sooner rather than later.

Christian's hold tightens around me. "I suggest you go back to your publishing house and tell them how wonderful I am. This is a private night for me and it's going to stay that way regardless of what you know and what you have seen. This charity means a lot to these people, and I hold it close to me. I don't need it being paraded all around town." he warns. "I have a very comfortable relationship with the head of your company, I'm sure he'll be raging to know that your department is lacking . . . that his staff has brought it among _themselves_ to gain a story out of nothing. You won't write an article about this."

"Is that a threat?" I eye him.

"No. It's an order." he bites, cocking a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

And just like that, our connection is broken. He steps away from me mid-song and leaves me standing in the middle of the floor alone. I watch him as he walks away, his broad shoulders swinging to his swagger as he approaches Elena.

What the hell just happened?

 **A/N – Thank you all for reading. I plan on updating this story every Tuesday. Please review to give me feedback! See you next week. Camilla 'Millie' Rose, Xx.**

 **Disclaimer: _ I don't own any characters or anything _**


	3. Chapter 2: Shadow

**A/N - Thank you all for reading, and for the feedback! Here's the second chapter, posting this a little early, I hope you enjoy it. I also posted a Preface chapter. Camilla 'Millie' Rose, Xx.**

 **SHADOW**

The constant loud ringing of phones and fingers tapping away on keyboards is the all too familiar greeting I receive when sitting down at my desk in work on Monday. I power up my computer and automatically groan in frustration as tons of emails sound out from my inbox, all of them competing for my attention.

My work desk is crammed in the corner of the large office space that's overloaded with workers. The isles are jammed with people printing, scanning and posting files to our boss who sits nonchalantly on the phone. The image of Carrick lazed back in his chair with his feet up on his desk makes my blood boil. He's the worst boss I've ever had, and, at this point, I might as well chop my tongue off so I don't say anything I regret. I need this job, staying tight lipped is a must.

The last thing I need to worry about is if my bills are going to get paid every month. The expenses of living in London strike a harsh wallop to my bank account. And like every other day, I pray for a promotion.

I duck my head when seeing Elizabeth approaching in the distance. Nobody liked Elizabeth. She was a senior within our publishing department and because she was the only employee who had worked here the longest, she felt she could dominate the rest of us; especially the interns. The way she bossed them around and acted so superior made my skin crawl. Always so forward with her inquisition and overly intrusive.

And the way she worked the refrigerator – eating anything she liked even if it wasn't hers – constantly had the office in an uproar. Who knew food could cause such a rift within a department!

Needless to say, I hated Elizabeth with a passion. She reminded me of my late Aunt Eunice, a fat stocky woman who constantly walked around looking constipated. The way her face scrunched up and her lips rested in an unusual pout told the world she carried a bad attitude. She'd nothing better to do with her life than to cause a stir within others.

"Well," Elizabeth looks at me expectantly as I hand her back the expensive gown and heels she's borrowed from her sister. "What did you get on him?"

I sigh against her excited look. "Nothing."

Her face falls as she lets out an almighty huff, "For fuck sake, Ana. Did you not do what we discussed?"

"I did. All of that and more. He knew who I was the minute I stepped in front of him, despite the fact that I went under a false name." I explain in a rush, hating that she's disappointed and bothered by me.

And as I recount the night, word for word about what happened, being carful to leave some sensitive bits out, her face bubbles with disappointment but is overruled by rage. She's infuriated by my lack of success.

"We can't keep running the same story on him over and over again. The column is running dry of readers. Everyone is already complaining that we're recycling the same old trash. We _need_ a story on him, Anastasia." And there it is, my _full_ name. Now I am positive I should start sprinting towards the story piece that will save me from being made redundant.

"I'll do better next time." I assure her.

"You better," she barks.

I frown against her threat, not liking the applied pressure she has etched on my shoulders. I suddenly feel weighed down by an anchor, like I'm some servant within this office that is made to do things any normal sane job wouldn't require.

Not long after my run in with Elizabeth, I'm called into Carrick's office. I feel as though I'm back at school and I've been summoned to the headmasters office as I sit in front of the balding bore behind his desk.

Carrick sits quietly while listening to everything Elizabeth tells him through the phone, and by his facial expressions, I know she's exaggerating the story.

I roll my eyes discreetly and patiently wait in a bubbling rage. _Fucking Elizabeth!_

"So," he starts, slamming the phone into its cradle. "You didn't get the story."

"Not the one you want." I retort.

His eyes narrow in on me and I know my new found attitude if not appreciated. I sit up straight and give him my full attention, trying to look a little more interested in this meeting.

"No outbursts? No new women? No talk of his business? Not a family member in sight?" he questions.

"No, Sir." I shake my head. "Just the same old fluff as always. He's dating Elena. He left his business at the door when he walked the room. From what I saw none of his family attended, and he was calm and collected the whole evening." I shrug.

"That's odd." he eyes me.

"No it's not." I groan. "We've been following him for six months and nothing he does has strayed out of place. There is nothing to find. We know everything there is about him." I'm getting frustrated.

"He's a hot fish to catch. One slip up from him and it's front page new for us. Do you know what that would do for our department? We would _finally_ gain respect. Nobody would walk all over us anymore. We _need_ this story."

"There is no story."

"Anastasia, there _will_ be a story. And you're going to take in as much information as you can." He commands in a harsh tone.

I don't take it well at being barked at like that, and my tongue slips from my grasp before I can stop myself.

"This is not what I signed up for when I applied for this job. I want to be chasing real stories, factual meaningful world news. Not prancing around after some mega-millionaire and discovering what type of coffee he drinks with his breakfast. I'm not a detective, I'm a writer." I complain, with as much respect in my voice as I can muster.

"And as a writer this is your story. This may not be what you signed up for but it's what your job requires. And if you can't do it, we'll have someone else fill your position. Understood?"

I sigh in defeat. "Yes, Sir."

"Good." he sits back and releases himself from his tense forward position. "I'd like a coffee. Not too hot, not too cold." he orders.

And with that, I lift myself stiffly from my seat, feeling as though I want to snap back with as rough a tone as he used against me. But I decide that's petulant. I don't need to act like a child, I won't get anywhere with that behavior. I have to take what has been said on the chin and go with it.

My only outlet from this company is to gain a good enough story that will reflect an excellent reference upon me, that will get me away from this wannabe publishing house and in somewhere where there is actual writing being done. I don't think I can keep on writing gossip columns for the rest of my life, I crave to work at a solid publishing house writing about top stories. Not the hot-shots of London. There's only so much you can scribble down about wealth, relationships and social engagements. Its the same bullshit, written a hundred different ways. I'm tired of it.

And why the hell are they so interested in Christian Grey? We already know all about his business, who he's dating, his lifestyle. He keeps his family under wraps, nobody knows much about them, but that is to be expected. He's a pretty private person when it comes to the intimate things in life. The tower of security outside his house is only one metaphor that confirms what goes beyond his day of business is his to keep sacred. At this point, what else is there to find?

I groan as I start through my e-mails, making a conscious effort to read each one carefully. I frown deeply when being told I have to walk down to the financial district, thirty minutes away, and take pictures of Christian Grey's office building. Apparently we need it for the back drop of his article . . . an article that doesn't even exist at the moment. _Great!_

* * *

Early afternoon dusk crawls in over the city as I mosey down the River Thames towards Christian's office. I'm quick to take the pictures, standing awkwardly on the pavement while streams of people brush past me and grunt in frustration at my presence blocking their fluid line of movement. His building is an impressive twenty storey empire that completely reflects his personality. The tall wide windows, sleek architecture, and signature name and logo printed artistically above the entrance.

I stay huddled under the crowded bus shelter along with the rest of the commuters who hide from the pouring rain that threatens to drench us as I prepare to take the evening bus home.

I watch in surprise when Christian strides out of the building, he walks confidently out the double doors of his office and into the pouring rain. It irks me when he dismisses his henchman that guards him with an umbrella as he travels towards an awaiting car. He stands freely in the rain conversing with his chauffeur, not looking bothered about the droplets pouncing off his expensive cashmere coat. He's very gesticulative as he speaks, clearly placing down his demands before taking a step back and walking away from the sleek black SUV and down the bustling street.

With an abrupt frightening impulse I begin to shadow him. I stay huddled between the crowds of commuters on the pavements, keeping a constant eye on his wet chocolate brown locks that confidently weave through the many scurrying bodies that brush past.

The further he walks from his office building, the quieter the streets get. The pathways thin out before only lone wanderers bristle past ever few minutes.

The buildings get less and less sophisticated. Gone are the sleek and polished properties with stainless steel framing and glossy windows, in exchange for more industrial like establishments with large trucks and vans decorating their exteriors.

The closer we get to individual factories the more I realize how far away we are from the financial district and how close we are getting to the shipping yards.

 _I'm guessing this is his manufacturing headquarters that he was telling people about!_

Christian continues through the plots of factories that surround us and heads specifically towards one that occupies the most activity.

I'm grateful for the throngs of bodies that congregate around the front entrance. It makes it easy for me to slip passed unnoticed against any watching eyes. I hold my breath when seeing Christian retreat up a flight of stairs and carelessly opening a door and letting it swing back with a loud bang. I tread his heels carefully, making sure to hold the door so it doesn't crash behind me and cursing it when it squeaks.

My heart skips a beat when his movements slow and his head swings to the side and he relies on his peripheral vision to look behind himself. I dash into a side corner and pray I haven't been discovered, letting out a sigh of relief when his footsteps begin clicking against the concrete floor.

I peek around my shield and continue to tail him from a further distance. I examine as he casually struts through the corridors, bowing his head in greeting to some workers and consciously ignoring others. I notice quickly that he leans heavily on his right leg when he walks – it's not easy to recognize unless you analyze his movements – it's a slight hiccup within his smooth strut. It seems as though he has some sort of injury or modest problem.

I stop when the corridor widens out and the factory floor makes a grand picture before my eyes. The place is huge. From the outside you would never assume the vastness of space in which it holds. Uniformed workers greet Christian with a nod of their heads as he passes, and continue on with their work without a sound. It's like they're servants greeting a King, they bow in respect at his presence but don't wish to be the centre of his attention.

They all wear black with long sleeved gloves covering their arms to the elbow. Their faces are covered by white surgical masks which I presume is a hygiene thing. By the looks of what their manufacturing, it seems he's big within the food industry; which comes as a surprise to me. From the research I conducted on him, I was under the presumption that he shifted customized car parts and different types of metals all around the world.

When Christian unlocks a thick wooden door and slips behind it, I move cautiously forward into the large opening and let my eyes wander. Nobody seems concerned by my presence – maybe because I'm dressed just like them in all black. And I feel invisible as their eyes focus on what they are doing instead of my scanning eyes that watch their every movement. I drink in what's around me.

A stack of, what looks to be, dry seaweed, sits on top of a large counter as four people pull equal measured amounts from it before efficiently packing it perfectly into clear packets and running it along a conveyer belt. My eyes follow the packages as their dropped into what looks to be a branding machine before it gets carted off to the awaiting vans. The finished product resembles a familiar packet at one of the isles at the supermarket I do my weekly shop in, one of those vegan superfood products, the ones models rave about in their magazine interviews.

As I move down the isle, I stop at one employees quarters, and I'm left baffled as he slices open the already sealed packets of food, making a clean cut that would go unnoticed if re-glued. He opens them, and they move down the conveyer belt to those who fill product into clear packets. I watch as they stuff the clear packets into the already packaged food, and the people who stand at the end of the belt make sure they reseal each packet and examine each piece of product as it comes out of the branding machine, before it's stacked and parceled off to the trucks.

Why do they reopen food packages to insert more product? I guess, there must have been a problem with the loading . . . maybe that's why these workers are operating after hours? In London the curfew for manufacturing companies that deal with food is five o'clock, and it's almost six. They look in no way as if they'll be finishing up anytime soon.

I continue down the isles and stop at another conveyer belt. At first glance it seems like sugar, the crisp white complexion reflecting it's sweet face. I casually swipe my finger across what I presume is a piece of excess product. I rub it between my thumb and forefinger, examining it closely and frowning when it's texture is not what I expect it to be. It's nothing like sugar – the polar opposite – no feeling of granulation or small hard particles biting into my skin.

And it's too harsh to be any sort of edible powder. I half expect it to be flour or baking soda, but it's too rough of a substance for that. And it's color is all wrong; as white as snow.

My eyes bug out of my head, _snow_.

The age old nickname of a damaging substance ringing a raging bell that lights up my mind – cocaine.

I lift my fingers to my nose and _very_ carefully assess the smell. It's most definitely not an ingredient you buy legally over the counter and most certainly not found at any supermarket.

Glancing around once more, I start rethinking my naivety, I don't think that was dried seaweed as I thought it was. More like a magical leaf to be rolled, lit and puffed.

And by the way it's being packaged, I'm certain it's not the medical kind. Rather the illegal stuff you buy after midnight at the back of an alley or in the dark corner of a nightclub.

I choke back my daunting realization. In no way is _the_ Christian Grey what he is built up to be. Not a mega CEO of a successful _legal_ manufacturing business, rather some sort of high end thug. A drug lord.

Maybe this is what Carrick was talking about?

 _What a story this is going to be!_

I brush my fingers against the material of my clothes, wanting to get the powder off of my skin incase I involuntarily inhale some of it. I don't want to be walking around high. Especially when I'm withholding the juiciest story London will see this year. I'm going to turn the newspapers on their heads and drive the gossip section within every magazine into a frenzy.

Publishing this and having the evidence solidifies my amateur career. I'll go from being a wannabe journalist standing invisible among socialites to the journalist publishing meaningful articles on important cases. I'll be front page news by the end of this. The promotion I'm desperate for will be handed to me on a silver platter. Having this kind of inside scope hooked on to such a big fish will open a world of possibilities. To be the one to break the story and investigate it as it progresses forward will give me an edge over all the other journalists who desperately play catch up and chase what they don't know. And I'll be there with a big grin bursting with factual information.

Discreetly, I whip out my pocket camera and take pictures as evidence, having the signature _Grey_ logo as centre of attention in each frame.

With one final gaze of disbelief around the factory, I head hurriedly towards the door. My legs sway from left to right in a brisk walk, my mind overly eager to escape out the exit.

I scream involuntarily as I'm suddenly stopped in my tracks and pulled aside by big rough hands that grab me just as I reach the door. I fight against them as they riffle themselves through my pockets, sausage fingers pulling my pockets inside out. I scream, kicking in every direction and trying my best to ward off the beastly arms that forcefully lock me in hold.

"Hey, don't touch me." I struggle against the hands that invade my personal space.

Before I know what's happening, my notepad, pen and camera are stolen from me.

"What's your problem?" I snap in frustration.

They both ignore me.

"Must you follow me everywhere?" Christian's voice barks in anger.

I shiver in terror at his abrupt appearance. I peek up at him from under my eyelashes, seeing him tower over me as rage drips out of every pore within him.

I gulp. "I'm sorry . . . I don't know what came over me." I lie smoothly, but my voice is rushed and too quick for it to mean anything. I sound as though I am lying, even to my own ears.

Two hard hands hold onto my shoulders and weigh down on me, keeping me firmly planted in my place. I glare at Christian through thick lashes, no doubt my expression is as menacing as my eyes.

He looks at me impassively, fueling the wrath bubbling inside of me. His henchmen hand him my camera and he goes through it's content. I watch in despair as he pulls my camera apart, breaking the memory stick in half and ordering his right hand man to burn it. He pulls the battery out and swings it across the floor and I almost cry when he does the same with my camera. Watching it break into pieces is a hard sight to consume.

"I believe you're the one in the wrong, Anastasia." he says in a more collected tone, sounding calm and no longer aggressive.

I take a glance around myself. "That's questionable, Mr. Grey."

His lips twists in amusement, my attitude being an obvious disliking to him.

"Trespassing is a crime, you know."

"And so is your _work_." I hiss.

He smirks briefly, seeming as if he's trying to stifle a chuckle. "Touché."

In a nano second his facial expression turns dark, shadows haunting the hollows of his cheekbones and a haunted glint shadowing his tormenting eyes.

"I'll have you dealt with if you dare open your mouth to _anyone_." his gray eyes stare straight into the deepest depths of my irises.

I feel him invading my intimate thoughts, controlling my emotions and inflicting upon them with simple looks. The way his eyes hold mine in an unbreakable spell, grasping every ounce of my undivided attention and dominating me with his words.

"I do bad things, Anastasia. And with one whisper of a command in the right persons ear you won't see sunrise tomorrow. I'll have you dealt with and the only future you'll ever have will be rotting into the earth while a flock of crows peck out your eyes."

I shake against his threat, breathing in deeply at the enormity of the thought. Unable to connect with the reality of it all.

Christian sees my wavering expressions.

" _Look_ , you're a smart woman who's washed up on a shore in which you don't belong. I don't know why and I don't know how. But this is your last chance to walk away from this factory without any strings attached. You walk away with your lips locked and the vision of this factory bleached clean from your brain, understood?"

I nod calmly, unable to find my voice.

"Good," he says with menace. "And just know, I'll be keeping a _very_ close eye on you, understood?"

"Yes." I finally say, but I can't move my feet. And the scariest thing of all is, I don't think I want to move my feet. The questions in my head outweigh the trembling fear inside of me.

He looks at me in surprise when I stand stock still in front of him after being released from his henchmen's hold. I know he has expected me to runaway screaming, but I don't. I stare at him.

He eyes me intensely. And his teeth click together in contemplation with whatever is happening inside of his brain.

"Come." he orders. "We'll talk over dinner."

 **A/N – Please review! Updating next Tuesday. Xx.**


	4. Chapter 3: Reveal

**A/N –** **Thank you for all of the support. I will be changing the name of this story to 'Lovers of Darkness'. Please review and give me feedback. Enjoy this next chapter, posting it a little early! See you next Tuesday. Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx.**

 **REVEAL**

The hard cobblestone floor of the entrance sat cold and rough with a glaze of ice covering the restaurants logo. I struggle to see the name, wondering warily where Christian is taking me. Part of me wants to run away from the wrath about to hit, far away, but I know he'll send someone after me. And I'm not prepared to deal with that outcome.

A man with a bushy mustache opened the entrance door for us, Christian being the perfect gentleman and stepping aside so I could enter first. The restaurant was warm and inviting, a chorus of loud chatter greeting my ears as the hostess guided us into the romantically lit dining room.

"Thank you." I whisper as he pulls out my chair.

He spoke eloquently with the waiter about the wine list, while my observant eyes begin scanning the room and quickly notice the many women peeping over at our table. The way their eyes dripped hungry with desire while watching the dark curly haired man in front of me was putrid. I became possessive of him, disliking the attractive vultures that surrounded us. Especially when I needed his attention. I need some answers.

A dainty blonde who continuously flicks her hair catches my wandering eye. She boldly nods towards us, capturing Christian's attention. He smiles back, politely.

I internally melt as I watched her stand tall, her shaming figure sauntering over to our table. I watch – resentful of the way her hand places itself comfortably on his shoulder – as she leans down to press a kiss to his cheek.

"Wonderful to see you again." her voice spoke with sex, full lips scraping past his ear.

"And you." he responds with a husky tone. "I didn't plan on seeing you here."

She flashes a winning smile; perfect white teeth gleaming. "I'm with Charlotte." she informs him, glancing towards her table.

I view her company who sits nonchalant on the phone. She too is stunning. Her dirty blonde hair hangs effortlessly in loose waves, her manicured nails highlighting the long elegant fingers that reach for her glass. She's oozing seduction, just by sitting cross-legged in a figure hugging dress that admired her full chest.

Both of them made me feel inadequate. I feel as though I ought to return home and change into something a little more upscale just to feel as if I fit in here.

The sound of laughter had my eyes refocusing, my mind paying attention to what was happening in front of me. The blonde giggled while running a hand through her long hair, paying utmost attention to the handsome man in front of her. She hung on to every word he was saying. _She's acting a little desperate_ , my subconscious chimed in. I nod internally in agreement.

"Anastasia," Christian grasps my attention away from her shapely arms. "This is Andrea," he finally decides to introduce us.

"Wonderful to meet you," she says with a thick posh accent, reaching her hand out.

I take it in mine, surprised at how rough the skin of her palm feels, and shake softly.

"Likewise." I say. My tone comes off a little bitter, but only because they seemed to enjoy talking with one another as if I weren't sitting right beside them.

"Anyway," Andrea dismisses my presence. "I'll see you on Saturday." she kisses his cheek again, smiling at me while straightening up. Her smile is almost taunting.

I chomp down on my bottom lip in a bid not to open my mouth, in fear I may say something that I will regret.

"See you then." he called after her as she saunters back to her table.

"What's on Saturday?" I blurt out before thinking. I kick myself. My voice is burning with too much curiosity. I sound nosy; even to my own ears.

"Oh, just some event . . ." he trails off; but his tone told me everything I needed to know – _It's none of your business_.

I nod.

"Where were we?" he sits forward, shoulders squaring while his expression became serious. The heat behind his eyes returns in full force. His eyes hooded with irritation that knits his eyebrows harshly together and crinkles his forehead. His jawline is severe as he clenches it tightly, biting down on his tongue for control. With one look I know he's holding back a lot, he wants to yell and roar at me, but within our social setting he can't do that without looking psychotic. And maybe that's why he has brought me here, so he doesn't lose control with me. This is him trying to contain the outrage that lathers every inch of his body.

I breathe out a deep breath as the enormity of what is about to happen has me shaking in my seat. One of two things is going to occur, I'm sure of it. He'll either kill me because I know about him, or, he's going to terrorize me into submission.

"You tell me," I mutter back.

His eyes soften lightly, and I think it's because he can hear the quiver in my voice.

"Why did you follow me?" he wonders, his voice filled with curiosity.

"I don't know what came over me, I just saw you and it happened." I explain with flaming hot cheeks.

"Where you watching me?" his eyes burn with rage.

I gulp. "No . . . not intentionally. My publishing house wants to write a story on you. They sent me to take pictures of your office building for a drop-back to the article. That's why I had my camera, and then you just came out the doors." I explain, feeling incredibly embarrassed. Thinking back on it, it all seems so foolish.

"What type of story?" Christian wonders while checking his watch.

"I'm not sure exactly. Anything that'll take us to the front page,"

I frown deeply when he glances over his shoulder, ignoring me, and nodding at Andrea and her friend who smile back. The wink from Andrea doesn't go unnoticed. And I huff under my breath in irritation.

"It would be nice if you could act a little more serious." I assert myself.

I hate the way he is being so casual. The man is a drug lord for crying out loud, he must feel some sort of stress at the fact someone he doesn't know has discovered his true organization.

He smiles at me. "This is the way I like to do things."

"What?" I glance over his shoulder, my chin pointing in their direction. "With two barbies fawning all over you from the other table, making you out to be this god-like man so it'll boost your ego, when all they want is your money?" I question. "Interesting."

He squares his shoulders, leaning forward on folded arms and stares straight into my eyes. Tantalizing grayish blue against defensive bright green.

"You know nothing about me." He pins.

"I do my research." I assure him, mimicking his folded arms.

"Your research has let you down before." he mocks, referring to my recent discovery.

"Touché." I roll my eyes as I rest back against my seat, staring across the room at them.

"There's no need to be jealous, Anastasia." he laughs in amusement.

"I'm not jealous." I retort, but it's obvious by my tone that I am. I curse myself for being born so transparent.

"Believe me, they are not my _type_." he says with a definite tone. "Nor would they turn the eye of any man who has an ounce of standard."

"They look pretty good." I find it hard to believe what he is saying.

"Yes." he agrees. "And so they should for what they charge."

My mouth drops open. "What?" _Prostitutes?_

"The professional kind." he shrugs. "Not my type of women at all."

"Professional prostitutes?" I laugh at my own stupidity.

"Yes." he reads the menu, unamused.

"You sure they're not your devils in disguise? The ones who meet and greet the many lawyers, bankers and whoever else sniffing around for their service, and then gets them hooked on cocaine. That way you recruit some more regular customers."

"I wouldn't be surprised if it were true. Sex and cocaine is an exciting mix for some, but I wouldn't know about that."

"I'm sure you wouldn't." My voice drips with sarcasm.

He drops his menu and frowns deeply at me. "You know nothing about what I do. You're viewing all of this the wrong way." his voice is full of exasperation.

"How so? What I saw seems like a pretty clear explanation to me." I pin him with my surveying eyes.

Our table falls silent when the waiter comes back with our wine. He makes a performance out of opening the bottle and pouring the red liquid into each glass. I try not to look too unimpressed by the theatrics, but it all seemed a little over the top in my eyes.

"Thank you." Christian dismisses him.

"I want to know about what you do." I admit when the coast is clear.

He smirks. "With the click of a button I can have you taken care of."

"I'm not scared of you." I lie. "I just want to understand; I'm curious."

"Why should I tell a _journalist_?" he cocks an eyebrow.

"So the journalist won't tell the authorities." I hit back.

He laughs, a deep chuckle of hilarity. "And you think you'd get that far?" he leans forward on his folded arms, staring me straight in the eyes. The way he goes from being so light to deeply menacing in a nanosecond, frightens me. "I'd have you picked up the moment your foot stepped outside this building. And you know what happens next . . ." he trails off.

"Your threatening me?" My mouth falls open.

"Yes." he replies confidently. "If you dare open your mouth to anyone or anything, I promise you'll find yourself being dragged down a back alley and killed at point blank range."

A shiver runs down my spine at hearing the truth in his voice.

"I won't tell anyone." I promise.

He looks at me skeptically, like he doesn't believe me.

"I promise." I vow. "I never break my promises." I swear.

He looks vaguely satisfied. Satisfied enough that he rests back against his chair, but he doesn't look as if he's going to budge no matter how much I pledge.

"May I ask you one question?" I whisper, lowering my voice so the tables surrounding us don't hear.

"Depends on the question." he mumbles as he swirls the base of his red wine glass, looking far more interested in it than me.

"Why do you do it?" I ask with burning interest. "Your successful. I have had to research you for different articles we published, you've accomplished many great things. Why this? Why do you partake in such a barbaric industry?"

"It's not how you see it." he shakes his head, almost looking frustrated as his mouth twists into a sulk.

"Tell me how it is then." I plead.

He scoffs again, but this time it isn't with amusement, but annoyance.

"I promise, I will not tell _anyone_."

He holds my eyes in an intense gaze. He stares deep into my irises, checking for any deceit. With one swift movement, he opens his briefcase perched on the extra chair and pulls out a sheet of paper and a pen. He pushes them both towards me and the lines upon lines of typed words are illuminated under the dimmed lighting. I struggle to see and look at Christian expectantly.

"This is a Non Disclosure Agreement. If I am to vaguely answer some of your questions it means you cannot talk to anyone about anything we discuss. Not only are you in contract but you'll be killed too."

I glance over his dark beautiful face once more before hesitantly picking up the pen. Do I really want to lock myself into a contract with him? A person I don't know. I gulp when the pen hits the dotted line and my name is scribbled down before my mind can follow. I have too many questions outweighing my voice of reason.

"And you're still here?" he looks at me in surprise when I drop the pen. "The moment I think you're going to run, you sign your life away to me." he shakes his head in amazement.

"I'm curious." I confess. "And in awe of you."

"Awe?"

I nod. "You're so established, so well thought of. The image you've created for yourself in the public eye is pretty genius. To the naked eye you're faultless. A real catch; rich, handsome, educated, successful. And, now, that perfectly composed painting is burning in ruins within my mind. You most certainly are not who I thought you were."

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"It doesn't affect my life, Christian. I'm just shocked at how secretive an individual can be, and how well you've managed to contain this ' _business_ '." I shake my head as it rattles with pinching questions. "Has anyone found out?"

"Besides you, one other." he answers.

"What happened?"

"It was my ex-fiancée. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and got in the way of a deal."

"You were engaged to be married?" I gasp.

"Yes. For two years." he utters with a shrug.

"How did that not reach the papers?" I'm baffled.

"My private life is my private life. I pay a lot of money to keep my intimate details concealed."

"What happened to her?" I question with wide nervous eyes. I'm not sure I want to know the answer.

"We made a contractual deal. I gave her the crazy amount of money she demanded in return for her discretion. She left the country and has never been seen or heard of since. Last I knew, she's been living in the outback in Australia with her husband. And pregnant."

"She wasn't killed?"

"No. We didn't have guns back then. They were too difficult to get by with unnoticed. And the old fashioned ways are to my distaste, it seems a little too cruel to stab someone through the chest."

My eyes widen in terror, a gruesome image coating my brain. He is such a beautiful man, how could he even think to do something so brutal?

Christian laughs at my expression. "I'm playing with you, Anastasia. I'm no murderer. It's transport only for me. Everything else is left to the criminals. I don't get involved."

"What do you mean?" I shake my head of the image.

"I don't run a cartel."

"You kill people, Christian."

"No. I don't."

"But you _do_ , Christian." The silent terror of realization hits me in the gut. I feel as if I'm going to be sick.

"No, Anastasia. I don't." he objects with narrowed eyes and a sour expression. "I get it from A to B, I don't do anything else. I don't sell it. I don't mess around with it. A to B, that's it."

"Is that why you have the factory?" I question.

"The manufacturing facility manufactures different metals and car parts – that's my main source of income and it's how I conceal this part of my business. It's only on specific days within the year that drugs pass through my doors. Specific staff come in and deal with the shipments, clean up and bounce before anything odd is noticed by regular staff members."

"How often do the shipments come in?"

He smirks, "Now, that would be telling." he becomes guarded.

"And where do you ship the stock to?" I probe.

He leans back in his seat and stretches out his arms, announcing to me wordlessly that it is here where he ships the stock. This restaurant.

My mouth falls open.

"You really need to start opening your eyes, sweetheart." he lounges back in his chair, looking a little too comfortable. This restaurant is filled with drugs in its every crevice, yet he acts like it's a Michelin Star restaurant and all the cliental are _clean_ eaters.

"The soap dispensers in the bathroom have small little bags in them. When a girl is here to collect her share to bring it back to the dealers, she'll pretend to be washing her hands when in actual fact, she presses a button and receives what she came for. But to the oblivious eye it looks nothing but normal. Nothing to question.

"This is how it works. We operate normally. Everyday life, normal gestures, normal movements. It defeats any questions or queries. It's all happening under people's noses and nobody knows anything because there is nothing to discover.

"Between every handshake their is an exchange. In every bathroom stall a woman is stuffing something down her bra or up her knickers. Every coat that goes into the cloak room is leaving with a goody bag. Every handbag perched on a hook has something slipped into it."

"So," I think back to the gala. "When you were writing your check and you offered that man your pen, you were actually delivering cocaine?"

He smiles. "I knew you saw that."

"How could I miss it? And that fight you had with Elena." I add.

"Elena promised that man a delivery that night. It was something she couldn't count on, not when I had put a strict order out that there were to be no drug exchanges during the gala. She messed up and I had to deal with the situation."

"What was her consequence?" I mumble, not wanting to know.

"She'll be benched from now on."

"Meaning?" I urge him on.

"Meaning, no more handling drugs for Elena."

I nod. "And that guy you shook hands with?"

"I shook hands with many people that night, Anastasia." his eyes flicker with irritation.

Maybe that was a stupid question.

"The red headed man, I mean. The one who walked over to you with a purpose at the start of the night." I describe.

"That was a money exchange." Christian shrugs.

"He owed you money?"

"Yes."

"A lot?" I ponder.

He laughs. "You never give up do you? Yes, a lot."

"Okay." I nod to myself, thinking about everything he is telling me. My brain is quick to pick it all apart, digesting it aggressively.

"I thought you said you didn't sell it to anyone." My voice is bitter. "You gave him your pen which was full of drugs. That's a sale. You told me you didn't sell it." Sparks of annoyance bounce within me. If he lies, how can I trust anything he tells me?

"I don't." he shrugs, placing his wine glass back on the table and leaning forward to look into my eyes. "I told you, I get it from A to B. A transportation service. These girls are part of it. Elena is part of it."

"I don't understand," I close my eyes in confusion, a sudden rush of a headache paining me.

"We deliver, they collect. As a transportation service, we deliver. This is one of the collection points. The money gets paid in full to me for transporting and, as agreed, they collect. Elena was supposed to deliver hours earlier and she never fulfilled her duty, that's why it got messy at the gala. That's why I was so angry. I hate fuck-ups." he growls. A feral sound that comes from the core of him.

"These are all working girls. They all belong to a London gang, they come here every second Friday for a meal. Once their fed, they get what they came for and bounce. Ive delivered, they've collected."

"You don't work with just one gang, though?" I say with certainty.

"As I said, you're a smart woman." he almost beams.

"You're not answering my question." I glare.

He eyes me for a moment. "We deal with different people every night." he finally says.

I nod slowly. "What do you do if normal customers wish to come here? People that don't wish to partake in your festive's'."

"This is a private members club. We protect _normal_ people here. Every lawyer, barrister, businessman, doctor, they all like a flavor of the service. This is a hidden place for them to pleasure that hidden desire. They're protected here. It's a controlled environment. They get in and they get out; no questions asked."

"And what about the police?" I look him in the eyes.

"This is a restaurant. A private club." he assures. "Why would the police be interested in coming here when there is nothing to find?" But with the expression planted on his face I know he's persuasive enough to have _certain_ people throwing a blind eye.

I look around. It does seem normal. Everything is as a restaurant should be.

"Everybody here is doing the same thing as everyone else and it never gets talked about. No one can act superior here. They're all as bad as each other."

"And what about you? How has this not gotten into the media?"

"Everyone is vetted before they are allowed step foot in here. They are all on contracts, NDA's and other set up agreements. If any word was to get out, I'd simply stop delivering. Then where would they go to get a high? Their lives would be tipped upside down, they'd have to go searching for cocaine in housing estates, in blocks of flats . . . that's dangerous for anyone who has money. They're more likely to be blackmailed for all the money they have, mugged and stabbed for all their worth. Here, they don't have to worry about any of that. They can act like their perfect selves with a pole up their ass and move on once the delivery is done. I keep them happy with the deliveries, they keep me happy by locking their lips. If anyone was to say anything, within a moment this place would be a true restaurant instead of a transport business." He tells me.

"People don't fuck me over . . . they know the consequences of crossing the line with me." he adds, and by the dark look that flashes across his face, it's enough to serve my imagination with a haunting image of what he is capable of.

I feel a chill roll down my back, the glint within his eyes making me curl into myself.

"What's eating you, Anastasia?"

"I'm not sure." I frown.

"Tell me," he pleads.

"Part of me feels like I'm about to be mauled by a lion. And the other half fights to see the good in you."

"I don't want to hurt you."

A wave of relief washes over me.

"Then why have you brought me here?"

"To have dinner," he changes the course of our conversation with a lighter tone. "You must be hungry?"

"Famished." I admit, although I'm not sure I have the stomach to eat after everything that has been said.

Dinner passes painlessly. Our chatter is light. We both opt for grilled chicken with mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables, and I've got to hand it to this place, it was delicious. The chefs really know how to cook a good meal. I'd have licked the plate if I wasn't in the presence of other people.

"You know the way you said you vet everyone," I start. "Does that mean you know personal details about everyones lives?"

"Yes. From the exact number sitting in their bank account to the addresses of their private residential homes. My people know everything. That's what happens when you sign the contracts. People allow me to know everything about them."

"So, you know about me then?"

"I know _a lot_ about you, Miss Steele." his tone is a little too threatening for my liking. His warning is clear.

"Tell me then," I challenge, wanting to see if his threat is real.

He smirks. "You were born in Seattle, Washington on September 10th 1990 to Carla and Raymond Steele. Your father died shortly after your birth and your mother relocated to Savannah, Georgia and remarried. You have no siblings. You went to high school in Savannah and got accepted to the University of Boston. You did four years studying two majors, journalism and marketing. But it was in your final year, a few months before graduation, when you abruptly left university and made your move to London.

"Now, with a smart woman like you I'd suspect something was tormenting you. Something happened that made you leave your homeland and seek refuge some place else. And being the smart observant man I am, it's not hard to see that someone in your past life was torturing you.

"That scar on your shoulder, you didn't get that from falling over the handle bars of your bike, just like you told the doctors back in Boston in March of 2011. No. That's a clean cut scar, too clean to be an accident. It looks to me like somebody took a blade to your flesh and sliced you open. And it wasn't your family, you talk too fondly of them. Your phone records show that you converse with them a lot. So, I'm guessing, it is a man who haunts your past. Somebody who overruled you for a long time before you escaped to England, am I right?"

His words which speak the truth bash me on every syllable, internally bruising me with the knowledge of my past life. I feel a lone tear slip from my cheek, my skin crawling with revulsion as my hands pull my hair over my shoulders and shield the ugly fat scar that stains my skin.

Christian throws his pocket square across the table. I leave it were it sits, composing myself.

"Would you like me to continue?" he wonders.

I shake my head, unable to listen to anymore. I get the gist of it, he knows things about me. Intimate things.

"Come, Anastasia. I'll drive you home." he stands from the table.

Our dinner is done. His expression and body stance says it all. He's not interested in talking anymore. And neither am I. I don't want to talk with someone who's so intrusive. I understand why he is the way he is. But to just spout stuff like that, delicate hurtful past happenings and talk as if he knows all about it. Like he understand. How dare he!

"Wow." I can't help but say when a shiny vintage red Ferrari rolls up beside us. "Impressive."

He rolls his eyes, "Get in." he opens my door for me.

I lower myself into the passenger seat and am left shocked at how uncomfortable it feels to sit. The leather seats looked so perfect and pristine at the first glance but when I sat down the puff went out of the chair and I could feel the metal interior within the seat poking me in different places.

"I presume I don't need to tell you where I live." I say when Christian confidently pulls away from the curb.

"No." he smiles against my disapproving look.

The car surges forward against the night, the purr of the engine leaving the bright lights of central London behind and heading north towards Primrose Hill. The image of Christian driving in such a gorgeous car, has butterflies rolling in my stomach and my heart pounding harshly against my chest. It's undeniable that he is one handsome man. The way he sits tall and holds himself with good attitude has my breathing out of whack.

I feel my cheeks blaze when he stops in front of my apartment. It's a dingy looking townhouse that I share with my neighbor. I live upstairs, he lives downstairs. The front is supposed to be painted white, with the immaculately drawn house number on each pillar that decorates the porch. Instead, the paint is peeling from the walls, the weeds are overgrown on the concrete steps and it looks severely unkept. It isn't the way I wish for it to look, but I don't have the money to fix the place.

Christian surprises me by getting out of the car and stepping around to open my door for me. With a helping hand, he lifts me from the passenger seat and delivers me safely onto the pathway, creating a clear line for me to walk up the steps.

"Anastasia," he calls.

I turn, startled at how close he is. Our chests our almost pressed together.

"Earlier I didn't mean to make you cry." he whispers, and his words warmly cascade around me.

"I know." my heart thumps noisily within my chest. "It was just a difficult time, is all." I say.

He nods in understanding. "You remember the NDA?"

And I know theirs warning behind his question.

"I know. Not a word will be rolling off my tongue about anything you do." I promise.

"Thank you."

His response floors me. Surely he's not showing appreciation? I thought he'd be holding a rifle to my head.

"Can I admit something?" he asks.

I glance up at him from under my eyelashes, slightly nervous with what he is about to say.

"A small part of me trusts you. Through the extreme anger and crippling unease; I believe you won't open your mouth. You're too scared too. But I know you're able to keep a secret. Just like at the gala, you haven't opened your gob about what you saw or anything like that. I had my people check the computer systems at your work and your personal profiles, you never mentioned it at all. You told Elizabeth a false story, that's commendable in my book."

"You went through my stuff?" I'm suddenly angered.

"Of course." he nods. "With what you saw I was treading on a fine line. You have very observant eyes. I thought it would be front page news, but it never happened. Not a hint of anything was published or found on the computer systems. I respect that."

"So . . . I'm not going to be killed at point blank range?"

"No." he shakes his head. "Not if you keep your word."

I nod. "Okay." I whisper. "I won't do or say anything."

"Anastasia." he calls as I am about to step back, thinking our conversation is over.

I turn back to look at him.

"There is another reason I brought you to dinner tonight." he murmurs.

My breath hitches when his lips swoop down and delicately place themselves to mine. It's soft at first, his plump lips moving against my own in a delicious rhythm. The urgent want and strong reaction I feel for him has me wrapping my arms around his neck, embracing him freely. I moan as he bites my bottom lip, harshly tugging it downward with his teeth before releasing it so his tongue clashes with mine. He holds me against him, his body pressed firmly to mine as our lips fight for dominance. I groan when feeling the familiar kick of desire pulsing between my legs.

 **A/N – Thank you for all of the support. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review and give me feedback. See you next Tuesday for the next update. Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx.**


	5. Chapter 4: CHOICES

**A/N – Here's the next chapter! Thank you all for reading. Please review and give me feedback. Hope you enjoy it . . . Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx.**

 **CHOICES**

"Ana, coffee." Elizabeth barks from her desk while having a phone wedged between her ear and shoulder.

I grunt in frustration and raise myself from the seat I have just sat down in. _Thank God it's friday_ , I chant to myself. At least tonight I can blow off some steam. My insides are so bottled up I'm bursting at the seams, and although I can't open my mouth and confide in anyone about my recent revelations, it'll be nice to have some girl time with my best friend Kate. She's like my own personal therapist. Kate knows exactly what to say and how to say it, not many people do. I can't wait to talk with her about work. Elizabeth and Carrick are weighing down on me pretty hard, maybe she can give me some advice towards what I can do? I need them off my back. I want some breathing space or it won't just be Christian Grey's story that I'll have difficulty getting, I'll fall into a writers block.

Jeeze, what a week this has been! My disagreement with Carrick, discovering who Christian really is, our dinner together, the kiss! It's been never ending, and I'm glad I can go to the club and just dance it all away for tonight.

 _That kiss_ , I can't get it out of my mind. The touch of his lips is permanent against mine. Anytime I think of our kiss I feel the sensations all over again. It's all I can think about since its happened. My lips still tingle in remembrance of his mouth dominating mine. And a sharp kick hits right where he bit me. It was so intense, so unexpected. He knocked me off my feet and I'm still trying to get myself together. A lingering part of me is interested in him, too interested.

I'm attracted to him, this I can't deny. His physical appearance, his intellect, his confidence, the way he walks, talks and carries himself is all so sexy to me. And he's protective. Well, I feel protected when around him. The world seems to peer in at us whenever we're together but remains at arms length. He keeps people at bay, close but at a length. I like that about him. And he knows about my past. How much of it I don't know, but it's nice that he knows without me having to tell him. There is an explanation for anytime I take a step back when he towers over me or the odd ticks I have, like staying away from men who intimidate me or walking away from a conversation that makes me uncomfortable. He won't question me because he knows. I don't have to explain myself or lie about my scar. That comforts me. Especially when my scar is so severe looking.

I don't mind looking at it. It's become a part of me. I've had it for so long now that I don't really even see it anymore, but I do try and cover it up as best I can due to other peoples queries. When people see such a harsh looking scar they're quick to stare and portray false concern just to get a story out of me. And I've found lying about it and giving people an answer is quicker than trying to change the course of a conversation with a person trying to wrestle information out of you. And I've been lying for so long, telling everyone I had an accident and fell off my bike, that I've come to believe that actually happened. Call me delusional, but to believe the dream in your head is easier to deal with than the harsh bite of reality.

However, Christian reminded me of my reality. Of what really happened. He reminded me of everything that haunted me for months on end. A relentless shadow that tormented my every move. My terrified screams and agonizing pleas for release echo in my brain. The struggle of my limbs to wrestle myself free from his firm grasp tremble in remembrance. The glint of the blade against the fire blinding my vision before the excruciating cut painted my skin with blood red liquid that left me drowsy. That living nightmare wasn't a nice reminder.

The reminder of _him_. A male who will never be able to hold the honor of being called a man. He is an animal. A deceitful liar. A bombast at best. With every strike of his fist my body was bashed, but it was the permanent bruise against my soul that scarred me forever.

I often wonder if I'll ever have a normal relationship. A relationship free from me constantly glancing over my shoulder at every turn to make sure the other person isn't coming up behind me. A relationship full of undoubted trust.

Ever since the day I was slashed open I've never been the same. I used to be so carefree and outgoing. I always had groups of friends and was the first to try new things. Now I'm huddled at the back of a group and struggle to be seen. I'm quiet; almost too quiet that people don't even realize I'm there. I find being invisible is difficult. It's very isolating. I never imagined being so lonely in life, especially with who I was before I moved to London. A popular university student with everything going for her and it took one man with an angry tone to change all of that. Like a bull plowing into a defenseless lamb, the impact was ought to leave a mark. It was only natural instinct to flee. I got an opportunity and I clutched onto it with everything I had.

And although I've changed since that time in my life. I've changed for the better, I think, since moving to London. I haven't completely been honest with myself about what happened. I ran away. I got up and left everything behind as if it didn't happen. I acknowledged that it has happened but I don't fully own every piece of it. I'm slightly delusional about it all. I don't like knowing I was in an abusive relationship, it's not a nice reminder nor a nice thought. I guess Christian brought me back to reality in a way. I don't have to lie about my past to him since he already knows. I can be me in front of him, instead of spieling this long ass story about falling off of my bike when it's so far from the truth. In a way, Christian made me real again.

And that kiss . . .

My mind has been buzzing all week with indecision. I can't even escape myself in my dreams. The vivid colorful visions that exhaust me. My mind is so active twenty-four-seven that I don't feel as if I'm asleep even though I'm unconscious. It's unnerving.

Christian consumes me. His handsome features and sexy body overwhelm the lustful feelings within me. But, it's his work that throws cold water over my piping hot fire. What he does bothers me. It's like an itch under your skin that never goes away. It's constantly there tormenting you even when the rest of you is perfectly fine. The way that one ache within your body can overrule the rest of your whole being. And that's the way I see him. He's so perfect, so handsome. All his cards are in check; all but one. That one card being a huge problem. It goes against me in such a harsh way that I fight with my mind about what's wrong and what's right. He's not a badass drug lord, but he still partakes on that scene. He may not run a cartel or make the drugs or sell them himself on the streets, but he is the one that gets them on the streets. He helps the people within the trade by protecting them and their industry. It baffles me how he hasn't been put behind bars. Surely his boats have been censored and routinely checked by coastguards, but maybe that's what he means when he says he has people working in high places. And it is those people who throw a blind eye and let the carousal keep turning. They are as bad as him by not doing their job.

Am I as bad as him? I'm not doing my part as a citizen. I haven't opened my mouth for the last four days since I found out. I haven't been to see the police. Not a word has been uttered out of my mouth. And I know it's because I'm scared. I'm not scared of Christian. I'm scared of his contacts. I'm scared of the industry he partakes in and how it can potentially effect my life. I don't want any hassle. I don't need any more problems. I think I just need to stay out of it even if it means that a niggling pang of guilt sits in my brain.

I'll just have to endure it all for now.

* * *

"Fuck, Ana. You look hot." Kate exclaims when I meet her outside of the popping nightclub, stepping back to look at me as she grabs my hands.

I hug her tight, needing a hug. "Really?" I flush, looking down at my black mini skirt and black lace long sleeved top with modest heels. I'd rather walk than hobble.

"Yeah." she exclaims with excitment. "Come on. Let's get inside and catch up with Jose. It's freezing." she pulls me by the hand.

The trendy nightclub is pumping with loud music and throngs of people who dance rhythmically to the beat. Jose greets me with an overly friendly hug. It's not hard to tell he fancies me but the feeling isn't mutual. I love his personality and get along with him really well, I'm just not attracted to him. He's not my cup of tea, as the English say.

It's not long before Kate, Jose, his friend from work and I have set ourselves up comfortably in a booth. And before I can catch up with what's happening, shots of hard liquor are being poured down my throat. This is what I need after the week I've had.

"What's got you knackered with work?" Kate starts after downing tequila.

"Elizabeth and Carrick." I spat their names in disgust. "They need me to write this article but there is no substance or facts for an article to be written so the pressure is on to find something to write about." I groan. "It's all due by Monday morning." I've three days to save my lousy job.

"Oh, shit. That's fucked up, Ana." Kate frowns. "Could you make stuff up?"

"I'm a fact checker, it has to be real." I complain.

"You could always ring whoever it is your writing about and ask for a statement on some upcoming event they're going to, an article confirming their presence at an upscale event. It'll give the paparazzi a heads up. Not a bog story but enough of one to get recognized." she suggests.

And I hug her, kiss her and praise her. "What a great fucking idea. Thank you." I smile for the first time in days. _How did I not think of that?_ I scold myself.

"So tell me about what's happening with this new guy." Kate yells over the music, a little tipsy from her vodka as she sways her torso to the music.

I had told Kate about Christian over our e-mail chat earlier this week when she invited me out. I hadn't given her too many details, not even his name, just a generalized idea of how I feel.

"He's a delicious asshole." I tell her.

"The best kind." she teases while rolling her eyes.

I giggle and sip my cocktail. "There's two sides to him. He can be sweet and soft," I recall his soft eyes, sense of humor and lighthearted laugh. "And then he's an ass." I frown, thinking about everything he does.

"Ana, you just described every man who exists. Maybe you should just give him the benefit of the doubt." she shrugs. "It's early days."

 _Only if you knew Kate,_ my subconscious sighs. If she knew she'd be screaming at me by now.

I just have this niggling feeling about him. It's the exact way I feel about writing, the way my hands itch and twitch until I lift my pen or tap away on my keyboard. The feeling doesn't go away until it's satisfied. And that's what's scaring me.

"It's not that easy with him." I disagree.

"Why? Who is he?" her eyebrows furrow.

"Christian Grey."

Watching Kate spill her drink is amusing. And the way her eyes bug out of her head.

"Tell me everything." she demands with a squeal.

I roll my eyes at her. _Only if you knew, Kate._

"I have to do this article about him at work and well I met him through that, I guess." I try not to lie, she'll see through me if I do.

"Did you interview him? What was he like? Did he ask you out?"

"No . . . sort of. We went to dinner." I mumble, shying away from her questions.

"Ooh, where?" she's interested.

"Some private members club. It doesn't really matter. He's giving me mixed signals." I blush.

"Go on,"

"He's all cautious and full of warning one minute and then he kissed me." I admit.

Kate splutters. "You kissed _Christian Grey_?"

"He kissed me."

"Ana! When did this happen? Why didn't you call me and spill?" she's annoyed.

"It's been a crazy week. Work is a pain in the ass." I frown.

"I'm sure he can pull a few strings." Kate nudges me.

I frown at her, deeply. "That's not a reason to go out with somebody," _It's the same as prostitution_ , I want to say but refrain from it. Dating someone for their worth and giving them what they want in return, I shiver at the thought.

"I know, I know." she eases, looking apologetic. "You like him?"

"Yeah." I smile. "I do."

"And he kissed you . . . meaning he likes you." Kate assumes.

I shrug. "I guess."

"Why don't you just go out on a proper date, see where it goes. Don't talk about business. Just talk about your interests and all that shit." she suggests.

"Yeah, maybe." I contemplate.

She rolls her eyes again, before laughing in delight. "Are you going to tell me about the kiss?"

I laugh and start spilling the details to Jose's horror.

"I gotta pee." I yell over the roaring music as I jump up.

"Okay, I'm on the dance floor." I see Kate eyeing someone.

I laugh and scamper away.

A flash of blonde hair being flicked over ones shoulder catches my attention as I search for the toilet. It's a familiar sight, only because it's a certain shade of platinum blonde. I stare up at the balcony pounding with excited well dressed men and women. Andrea beams a perfect white smile as she converses with the man slinging his arm around her. Her animated features seem so fake now that I know what her job is.

Although, she does look stunning. Even better than the night I met her, if that's possible. And her friends are gorgeous too. All decked out in expensive clothes and pampered at every inch.

The sudden rush of feeling self-conscious and inadequate hits me square in the chest. I'm glad they're all partying on the balcony and not the main floor. It's easier to forget about them and not self loathe at my own sight. I'm a guilty suspect when it comes to comparing myself to others.

I'll never look like _them_. I carry my own attraction, everyone does. I can compliment myself when it comes to my waist line, I have a nice curvy figure. I'm not voluptuous but I'm not petite, I have a lean meat on my bones leaving me with a great shape. A pinched in waist with curvy hips. I'm a little empty on top, my boobs only filling a B cup, but I am what I am and I can't change that.

 _They_ , however, seem to be flawless. The way they walk, talk, look. None of them wobble in their sky-high heels or are below anything but posh and I can't pick out any imperfection. No acne, no body hair, no makeup mishaps. They all look like they've walked off a runway.

 _And so they should_ , my subconscious bashes, _for what they charge_ , Christian's voice rings in my head. I sigh, staring at them. The way they sling themselves around drunken men who are galaxies away from being worthy of their attention. What mid-twenty year old woman with striking looks would go for a chubby baby faced man in his thirties that has been stuffed into a suit? It makes me feel bad for them. How they treat themselves isn't anything that I envy. They sell their bodies to the highest bidder and put on a performance that is bound to get tiring. I can't even imagine dressing up every evening and planting a big fake smile across my face and act interested as sleazy men throw themselves at me.

The whole thing seems so sad; selling yourself. They're so beautiful but by their career choice it's obvious they have major self-esteem issues, or maybe it's just what they grew up around? Either way, it's sad. It's comforting knowing Christian doesn't encourage it. He may deliver but he has no control over these women. He doesn't use them in his operations, the gangs do. They hang around him under the orders of their pimps but a strong feeling that stirs in me feels as though Christian would have them out of his sight if he could.

I'm quick to use the loo, wrestling with my underwear which seem to not want to slide up my legs. I walk back onto the main floor and scan the room for anyone I know. I've lost Kate. Hopefully with how tall she is she'll be able to spot me. I won't be hard to find. Our booth is empty, in fact, everyone seems to be on the dance floor.

I use my observant eyes to see if I can spot anyone, and bite my lip automatically when seeing a very familiar handsome face. And he looks so delicious. The way he's perched forward, his forearms resting on the balcony railing as he looks down at the activity below him. The well fitted suit with his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the top and shining watch that sits so comfortably on his left wrist. No doubt it costs a fortune. I believe from his underwear up he's a first class ticket. I imagine his underwear are designer as well. _Mm.. and all that is underneath_ , that kiss is a sweet taste of what Christian can do. And he's sporting a little bit of facial hair, _I wonder how that feels between ones legs . . ._

"ANA." Kate screams, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I snap my eyes over to her. "Yeah," I shake myself out of my brain.

"I love this song, come on." she squeals.

And just like that, I'm on the floor moving as best I can. It takes me a few songs to get into the groove of things and I feel safe beside Kate and the surrounding bodies that shield me from the audience above.

I smile when a guy I recognize from Kate's work slings his arm around me. I begin dancing with him and burst with ideas when peeking up and seeing Christian looking straight at me.

Christian's eyes glance me over, swooping up and down my body, and I have the satisfaction of watching him bite his bottom lip while his eyes are cast over by a dark glint. _Looks like someones hungry_ , I smile to myself. _Well, if he's staring, we might as well make it worthwhile,_ my subconscious chimes.

And I do. I pretend not to notice his sharp eyes watching my every move as I sling my arm around the burly guy dancing close to me. My body curves against him and we begin grinding together against the beat of the music that thumps around us. I lose myself to the music and softly hum in pleasure at the feeling of our bodies connection together. And it's even better when I envision Christian behind me.

"I'm cutting in," Christian voice thunders over me, towering over the man who has his arm wrapped around my waist and his hand splayed out on my hip.

"Says who?" Mr. Burly challenges.

I gulp.

The way Christian's eyes blaze menacingly in fury portray nothing but a sinister emotion in which he's ready to act on. The tight jawline, puffed chest and pinning eyes have his opponent taking a step back and eventually releasing me from his grasp.

"Not fucking worth it," he grumbles as he stalks away from me.

Christian smiles in triumph, and while I'm secretly delighted, I'm not letting him lap up the victory.

"What was that?" I complain as he takes me into his arms.

"I never knew good girls danced like that." he ignores my quip.

"Who ever said I was a good girl?" I wink.

He laughs. "You have me there."

"What are you doing here?" I eye him curiously.

"It's a Friday night. I'm partying just like you." he shrugs.

"Andrea's up there. I saw her." I nod towards the balcony. "Are you sure you're not on business?" I test.

He rolls his eyes. "Does it always have to get back to business?" he seems bored with my hounding.

"Yes," I answer seriously.

"I didn't know she was going to be here. I was golfing today with a few of my clients and we came here, nothing spiteful. Legal business, legal drinks, legal nightclub." he promises.

"An unusual night for you then?"

He laughs off my jab and wraps his arms around me as the crowd around us pull tight. I hum at the whiff of his cologne and the feel of his big hands on my hips. _Fuck_.

"You're friends aren't using her services, right?" I take a glance up at the VIP area.

"No. They don't know what she does and it's not on offer to them. I doubt they'd be interested, anyway. Some have wives, others kids. They're just here to toast good business. That's it." he explains.

I nod, feeling a little better.

"Why did you choose this club?" I wonder.

He smirks, his eyes a little droopy and I know it's the alcohol.

"You haven't been checking my computer at work, have you?"

He laughs, slinging his arms around me. A territorial claim. "Maybe."

"Christian." I scold, feeling my temper flare.

I'm so confused. A part of me feels flattered and the other half feels completely annoyed and angered at the fact he's snooping.

"I'm having a laugh, Ana. This is by chance, I promise. In fact, I always come here." he says, looking sincere.

"Really?"

"Yes." he looks me in the eyes and I know he's telling the truth.

He bites his bottom lip to stop his lips from curving into a grin. His eyes hold mine in an intense gaze, the both of us standing looking at each other. I don't feel invisible to him. It's like he sees every detail of me.

"You look good in that skirt." his eyes sweep down and drink me in. "Really good."

I gulp, feeling a raw flush coat my body as the desire punches me in the pit of my abdomen, demanding to be felt and dealt with.

I compose myself, taking a step back from him.

I frown at him, a pure scowl of unwelcome. "Christian, you need to stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop all of this. This is all so wrong." I pull myself away and make my way off the dance floor and towards the corner of the room. At least here there won't be an audience eavesdropping on our conversation.

"You need to chill out, Anastasia." he looks so at ease within himself.

I feel frustration hitting me right in the core. "Christian!"

"I'm getting the hint that you're angry with me." he assumes.

"Yes."

"About?"

"Everything." I exclaim. "What you do. What you are. How you go about doing things. It's all so wrong. You benefit from other people's misfortune."

" _Keep your voice down._ " he seethes. "Did you not listen to anything that I told you last Friday night?"

"Yes. _Everything_."

"Anastasia, you know I'm not the masked man." he looks deeply into my eyes.

I sigh, "What they hell does that mean?"

"You know what it means." he challenges and he's right. I do have an idea of who he is and he's not all evil. "Please stop bringing this everywhere I go. Why can't you just talk to me, normally?"

"Because, it bothers me."

"It's not my main job Anastasia. It's not my career. I do it on the side for _reasons._ "

"What reasons?"

"I can't tell you that." he shakes his head in a vigorous 'no'.

"Okay," I shift uncomfortably.

The tension holding his shoulders sinks and deflates away. A silence dropping around us and only the music can be heard. He looks me over and I feel that familiar heat washing over me like a warm stream coating my body. Why does he have so much control over my sexual desires?

"I wanted to ask you something." he slurs a little.

I stifle a giggle at his cute voice. He sounds so unlike himself. So carefree, not in control or stiff. It's different and I like it.

"What do you need to ask me?" I wonder, holding onto his arms to steady myself.

"Come out to dinner with me." he says.

I roll my eyes. "You're drunk."

"I'm not, Anastasia." he looks at me seriously, through clouded tipsy eyes, but he's serious.

"No." I answer.

He looks shocked. Eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

"You don't want to go out with me?"

"I'm not interested." I lie.

He smirks, "You were pretty interested in that kiss."

"You kissed me without warning." I defend.

"You kissed me back."

"It was a kiss." I fight. "Nothing more."

"A kiss nonetheless. Well, if you won't go to dinner with me, then why don't you attend the State Dinner with me?"

"You really don't take rejection well, do you?"

"No, Anastasia. It's a first." he admits.

"Good."

He smirks again. "Is that a yes?"

I contemplate. The State Dinner that our company couldn't get tickets to. It would be easy first page news for our article and Carrick and Elizabeth would get off my back. I wouldn't be treading water anymore, but can I go against myself so aggressively? My gut tells me yes but my morals, my heart tell me it's all so wrong.

He takes my silence as an answer. "I'll pick you up at your place. Seven thirty on Saturday." He chimes with a wide smile. A triumphant smile. Victory plastered all over his face. "Oh, and it's a black and white theme." he adds.

 _What a bastard . . . a handsome bastard!_ He's driving me crazy.

Christian attempts to kiss me, again. His chin dips down with the intention of delivering his lips to mine, but I turn my face and let his lips land on my cheek.

"Do I look like the type of woman who lets a man kiss me when he hasn't even bothered to buy me a drink or offer to take me out to dinner? Step up your game, Mr. Grey." I whisper seductively into his ear.

He bites his lip before his face breaks out into a beaming smile.

And it's his smile. That breathtaking smile that has me hooked.

 **A/N – Please review and give me feedback. Updating next Tuesday. Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx**


	6. Chapter 5: Let Me In

**A/N – Thank you all for reading and for the feedback, it keeps me writing! Here's the next chapter . . . hope you enjoy! Please Review. Happy Holidays. Xx. Camilla 'Millie' Rose.**

 _Ugh, Saturday!_

I had wrestled around all day trying to find the perfect dress. It was hard being limited to only two colors; black and white. And with how unflattering white dresses can be I really only had one shade to work with. I had rummaged around so much my bedroom looked as if a bomb had hit it, every article of clothing I owned was strewn across the floor and my shoes were thrown all over the place. I luckily found an old silk black gown at the back of my closet that I had borrowed from Kate and never returned. It wasn't completely my style, I'd like it to be a little more modest and not as busty, but there was no time to change anything. It fit the purpose.

My legs bounce in nerves as I sit under the light at the kitchen counter.

"You'll be fine." Kate assures me as she paints my face professionally with makeup. I'm so lucky to have a friend working in the beauty industry regarding me being hopeless at hair and makeup.

"What if I trip in my heels? Embarrass myself at dinner?" I whine. I'm silently regretting this.

"Just keep one leg in front of the other and if anybody starts talking to you keep it casual. Stay calm, you'll be great. Just don't take part in any complex conversations or comment about things you don't know two shits about." she urges, starting to paint my nails.

"How do I look?" I breath in and out.

"Beautiful." she smiles sweetly.

I try not to roll my eyes. "Seriously, I'm not too heavily coated?" I question, struggling to see my reflexion in the window of the oven. The image of Elena comes to mind when I think of heavy makeup, I don't want to look false.

"Are you questioning my skills?" she teases playfully. "I have you looking naturally glam. Not too much, not too little. A nice coverage on the face, popping eyes and neutral lips, a shade that matches the natural color of your lips. You look like Ana, just not as bare skinned. You've made an effort." she promises, painting my nails black. I had wanted them blood red but Kate reminded me of the theme.

"What time is he collecting you?" she wonders, glancing at the clock as I air dry my left hand.

"Seven thirty." I answer.

"You have five minutes. Let's get your heels on." she orders, picking up each foot and placing my heels on my feet. I stand and am pleasantly surprised at how comfortable I feel. "These are a little lower than how I'd like them to be but you'll be able to walk. It's going to be a long night." Kate steps back and scans me over.

"Well . . ." I feel my heart thundering in my chest.

"You scrub up nice, Steele." she giggles. "I'm so proud of my work. Look at yourself." she moves me towards the mirror.

I blink at the reflection. Kate really can perform miracles. My hair and makeup is faultless in my eyes. She's created a brunette beauty that I get to call myself. And the dress isn't half bad either. My figure fits into it like a glove, it's just my breasts that are a little small to fit the cups but it's not a disaster.

The doorbell rings. Kate jumps in excitement with a squeal. "That's him." she runs towards the window.

I want to scold her but instead breath through my anxiety.

"Oh, wow, Ana." she squeals. "Answer the door and get out there." she urges in delight.

"Why? What's happening?" I feel my pulse racing.

"Just go," she rolls her eyes in exasperation.

"Okay. Okay." I rush to the door. "Thanks, Kate. Love you." I call.

"Love you. Enjoy." she waves a final farewell.

I gulp slightly before unlocking the door and opening it. I instantly bite my lip to catch my gasp. Christian in a tux is a sight to see, but Christian in a tux standing beside such a beautiful classic car and holding white roses is breathtaking. He really is the full package. He wears a tailored black velvet jacket and a crisp white shirt that is decorated with pearl buttons and a white silk bow tie.

"You look amazing." I blurt, blushing.

He smiles. "Not as amazing as you. You look beautiful." he flatters. "For you." he hands me the roses.

"Thank you." I bite my tongue and take the compliment under Kate's orders. "Another classic," I comment on his car, pleasantly surprised.

"For a classy girl." he charms.

I bite the inside of my cheek as I grin. _Classy . . ._ I like that word and it's meaning.

I place the roses on the hall table, Kate playing charades with me in promises to put them into water.

"Come," Christian takes my hand when my door is closed and helps me down the steps, opening my car door and helping me into the passenger seat.

He smoothly pulls away from the curb and I'm intrigued by the SUV following us from behind.

"Who's your friend?" I wonder.

"That's Taylor. My security. You'll remember him from the factory . . . he's here to look after my car and give us a ride home since we'll be drinking." he answers, looking too delicious beside me. "You have a pen with you." he eyes the pen peeking out of my clutch, changing the topic.

"It's just a pen." I shrug.

"A tool to be used to scribble down notes." he adds.

"This isn't a date, Christian." I remind him.

"It's not a press show, either." he bites.

I sigh, "I'll lose my job if I don't do this so please get off my back." I beg.

"What do you mean?" his forehead crinkles and he looks concerned.

"I told you that night you took me out to dinner I was taking photos of your office building before I followed you." I say.

"Yeah," he probes.

"Well, I have to write an article about you and I've nothing to go on but what I see tonight. I'm not going to write about what you talk about, that's too personal and nobodies business. I just want to talk about your style, the table you're sat at, nothing more. Just a few new lines to add to the trash in the social pages." I explain.

I expect him to blow up but instead he laughs.

"What?" I eye him.

"People actually read about what I wear and who I'm seen with? God, how much time do people have on their hands?" he shakes his head in disbelief. "You'll really get fired?" he checks, looking bothered.

"It seems to be heading that way." I frown.

He sighs, looking deep in thought. "Leave the pen in the car. I'll have my PA call you on Monday morning. We'll get you something juicy to write about . . . save you from the sharks."

"Really?" My voice floods with relief.

"Yeah, really." he nods in seriousness.

"Thank you." I feel warm-hearted at his words and rub his hand that sits on the gear shift in an affectionate way. "What'll the article be about?"

"I'm doing a deal with an oil company in Iran. Nobody knows anything yet. It'll come as a complete surprise; an exclusive. And the man I'm doing the deal with is pretty high up, a billionaire. The work we're doing will generate a lot of jobs too. It'll be a page turner . . . and we'll throw in a few fibs." he smirks, scheming.

"What kind of fibs?"

"I have a few ideas." he teases.

"What are you up to, Grey?"

He just smiles and doesn't answer my question, pulling me in a very curious direction. I want to enquire more and nag some responses out of him but we pull up at the prestigious venue. All lights and cameras.

A jolt of anxiety hits me square in the chest when flashes of cameras start illuminating around the car. Christian pulls himself out of his seat with ease and saunters around the front as if nobody is watching let alone bombarding him with flashes. He's as cool as a cucumber as he glides over to my door and opens it for me, helping me onto the red carpet and guiding me forward. I don't over think what's happening and follow Christian's lead.

"Mr. Grey." People holler from all around.

Christian ignores them as we head inside.

"You're not stopping for the press?" I'm a little surprised he's skipped the red carpet.

"My personal life is personal. If I stop, they'll ask who you are. I'm not opening my mouth."

The red carpet is long and faced with twenty marble steps leading up to the entrance of the upscale venue. It's an old museum that is hosting us tonight, full of English tradition and historic paintings and iconic figurative statues such as Winston Churchill and Queen Elizabeth. It's impressive to say the least, how they've dressed the walls in spiraling drapes that are illuminated by dimmed fresh light setting a romantic and calming atmosphere. It's the loud chatter and familiar faces that are intimidating. The Prime Minister is here, along with recognizable English celebrities and models from across the country. I feel like I'm in a magazine right now, standing along all these people.

Christian walks with cool confidence, not batting an eyelash at anyone around as my eyes bug out of my head. He leads me into the reception hall with my hand on his arm, placing a champagne glass in my hand as we begin to approach some dapper looking gentleman.

"Christian," they greet warmly, almost praising him.

"William . . . Christopher . . . Luke," he greets, showing me off. "This is Anastasia Steele, my date tonight." he announces with pride.

I blush. "Very nice to meet you all." I say politely.

They all smile in response and I feel self-conscious when one of them, I think it's Luke, looks me over. His eyes are judging as he looks me up and down. It makes me feel like a piece of meat.

"How's the deal coming along?" William's question brings me out of myself.

"Very well. Another few weeks and it'll all be polished off with the money in the bank." Christian looks effortless and at ease as he impresses them with his business.

"That's unusual when it comes to Iran," Christopher comments. _Oh, the Iran deal . . . they know about it._

"Precision over power wins every time. It's all about how you deal with the individual rather than the business." Christian smirks against their envious looks, looking proud.

They begin asking questions about his deal and what's he's done so far. They 'oo' and 'ahh' all over him, causing me to zone out and lose interest. _Could they blow anymore smoke up his ass . . ._ I try not to roll my eyes.

"I'm going to get us another round of drinks." Christian announces. "Would you like a _cock_ tail?" his wink doesn't go unnoticed.

I roll my eyes and blush, "Yes," my honey-soft voice is clear. "A mojito would be nice."

He smiles and kisses my cheek before excusing himself from the people around us and walks away. My eyes travel after his sexy ass and broad shoulders, involuntarily biting down on my lip as I try not to drool.

I frown when seeing Elena cross my eye-line. Is there any event that she's not going to attend? And tonight she looks stunning, a lot more age appropriate and pared back. She looks her age, and her age looks well on her. She's an attractive woman. All long legs and glossy hair with doll like features. It makes me a little sick knowing she and Christian had a fling.

I scan the crowds once more in search of Christian and my eyes widen when seeing him surrounded by three women. All gorgeous of course. They fawn all over him and I feel my chest swell with pride when he stares at their faces and not their bodies and politely excuses himself to their advances by retreating from the bar and making his way back over to me. _He must be serious about me if he's warding off hot tickets . . ._ my subconscious smirks.

As a woman I know where I stand. I'll never be tall with gorgeous long legs and a petite frame that's decorated by glossy hair and perfect skin. I was born the way I am . . . a klutz when it comes to most things and ordinary when it comes to being a woman. But, I don't take myself too seriously. I laugh at myself, and Kate always says that's my most lovable quality.

The dinner flows seamlessly. There isn't much chatter at the table, only for the first course when all the men talked business but once the lights dimmed and the entertainment began everybody was so engrossed with the stage they didn't bother blabbering with the person next to them.

My breathing stops when I feel Christian's hand against my knee, his thumb rubbing soft circles around my smooth flesh over the silk of my dress. It feels good and with how his fingers dip into the inner side of my thigh I have to remind myself to breath. Is he trying to kill me?

"I hope that wasn't too treacherous for you." he leans down to whisper in my ear, kissing my cheek once the long ass speeches are finished.

I smile shyly. "No. I like listening to you speak. You're pretty passionate." I admire.

He nonchalantly shrugs off my admiration but his smile is a clear sign he likes what he has heard.

I rub his arm adoringly, "Although, I am wondering, is it time to stop talking about business?" Between the speeches and every conversation it seems more like business negotiations than a social night out.

He chuckles, "Getting a little boring?"

"Just a tad." I'm sheepish, I don't want to sound rude.

"Would you like to dance?"

I peek over at the many couples foxtrotting around the floor. "I can try." I blush.

"You'll be grand, I'm leading." he assures, taking my hand and guiding me to the dance floor.

"I like being this close to you." he whispers as we press close together in hold.

"Me too." I blush from my roots, a shy smile creeping onto my lips.

I feel eyes on me and let my eyes flicker around. All of these people seem so stuffed up. It's a little unnatural almost.

"Are these people your friends?" I ponder.

"No." he's quick to answer. "Just clients . . . contacts." his lips are close to mine.

I bite my lip. "They don't seem the friendship type."

"How so?"

"If you were my friend it would be banter all day. Having a laugh with each other rather than blowing smoke up your ass." I quip as he twirls us around the floor.

He laughs freely, "I'm not your friend?"

"This seems like a little more than friendship." I admit.

He nods in agreement. "What is this?" he wonders, looking so lost.

I feel a lump rise in my throat at his neglectful eyes. "I don't know." I whisper in truth. "I haven't a clue what's going on between us."

"From my eyes, it seems as though life keeps bringing us together."

"Yeah," I say into his neck, unable to resist placing a delicate kiss below his ear. "It's confusing."

"I'm glad I'm not the only one feeling this way. I'm mind boggled by all of it." he presses are heads together.

I comfortably sink into him, laying my head on his shoulder so he doesn't see my glassy eyes. "I worry about you, you know. You live your life on the edge of a sharp knife, and at any point you could fall or slip to your death. Don't you care about that?" I peek up at him.

His eyes melt to liquid when he sees the rawness in my emotion. "I'm not scared of what happens in my life, Anastasia. I'm scared of what doesn't happen."

"Can you explain that?"

"I have everything a man could want and no one to share it with. I don't let people into my life. I keep myself contained in a prison cell by my own gratis. But, _you_ , you changed that somehow. For years I've been alone and lately I hate being alone. It's like an ache that never goes away. You learn to live with it but it never leaves . . . except when I'm with you. It goes away when you're around. That's why I'm so intrigued. It's the reason I'm finding it difficult to stay away." he declares.

I can't help the lone tear that slips from my eye. He catches it with his lips and kisses it away.

"When it comes to men I get scared." I admit.

"Why?" His eyes are curious and invasive. He studies me.

I shrug, my attention fixated on the decorations around the room. I stare looking like I'm interested when I really couldn't care less. I hum back to the present when Christian nuzzles the side of my neck with his chin, pulling my mind back to him. He's not letting me run from our conversation.

"You're closed off and scared, I get it. Your past effects your future." he whispers so delicately in my ear as his strong arms hold me to him. "You don't have to be scared around me, Ana. I'm not going to hurt you. I wouldn't raise a hand against any woman. That is not who I am as a man." he promises, softly swooping his lips down to tenderly kiss the tip of my scar that peeks out from the lining of my dress.

I stop breathing for a moment, freezing completely at his actions, before melting internally with how good it feels to have pillow soft lips adoring such an ugly part of me.

"Just give me once chance to show you that I'm not who you think I am. I''m not a monster." he pleads.

 _He could have anyone._ "I just don't understand why you want me?"

"You're the first woman who hasn't thrown herself at me. And that's not me being a dick, it's me stating the truth. You don't chase me, it's refreshing. You leave me questioning myself. I don't ever question myself. Reality hits each and every time I'm around you."

"For me too. You make me live in the present. You take me out of my head and into the moment." I squeeze him softly, continuing to follow his lead.

We're so absorbed by each other that the world around us is forgotten. We're in our own little bubble.

"Just one chance." he implores. "Let me in, Ana." he begs. "I won't ever hurt you."

"I don't know if I can, Christian." I shake my head. "What you do . . ." my lips tremble.

"I want to tell you all about it, I do. I want to but I can't, okay? I . . . I want to tell you why, I really do, but you just have to believe I'm not the masked man. I'm not who my life portrays me to be, if that makes any sense at all." his eyes flood with emotion. "Please believe me, Anastasia."

I gulp. His sweet voice and tender touches have drawn me in and have me wrapping myself around him in a tight embrace. I think that's my answer, since I can't find my voice.

The music changes to a more uptempo beat and our bubble is rudely burst by the people around us. They frown at us standing in their way and Christian pulls me off the dance floor, saving us from getting trampled on by the swinging bodies and ignorant minds that don't care for our presence.

"I'll get us a drink and we can talk." he kisses my temple.

"I'm going to run to the loo." I squeeze him back.

Christian and I head in separate directions. My heart thumps with felicity against his recent words as my mind starts a post-mortem against our words. I guess this means I'm giving him a chance? Yes. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, discover who he really is as a person and maybe one day in the future he'll tell me all about his _reasons_ for doing what he does. And if it's not enough to overpower the dark side of him, I'll cut all ties. _Yes, that's what I'll do . . ._ I say to myself as I look myself in the mirror while washing my hands. I've never looked so radiant. My eyes never having been so bright. _He does this to you . . ._ my subconscious smiles.

I walk out of the restrooms with a smile on my face, feeling newly exhilarated for the night ahead. I no longer dread anything . . . except _that_ , I eye her. My feet stop themselves moving as I watch Elena driving in for the kill. She approaches Christian full of her own agenda. I stay hidden within the groups of people who shield me from Christian's view, wanting to see his reaction at her presence. They've had chemistry in the past and I'm interested to see if it's still there.

He greets her warmly. A soft hug and kiss on the cheek. I try not to be jealous but the green eyed monster roars within me. I don't like their comfortable exchange. I can't hold back my scowl when Elena snakes her arm around Christian's in a flirtatious gesture and Christian doesn't seem to find anything wrong with it. His smile grows wider as he converses with the men around him, completely fine with how Elena is wrapping herself around him. Her hand sweeps up and down his back, caressing him over his jacket. It's all too close for my liking. I feel as though she's pissing all over my territory and what's worse is that Christian doesn't seem to mind.

Maybe he still has feelings for her? _Old feelings reignited . . ._

My heart sinks at the sight of them together. He's so at ease, she's so relaxed. Two people who are cosy within each others presence.

I hate the way she always looks mischievous around the eyes. I don't like Elena. Not only does she help out on his work scene for the deliveries but she's conniving. I wouldn't put it past her to be scheming behind Christian's back in order to take care of herself and disregarding all others around her; the gala was a clear example. She'd stomp on anyone just to climb the social ladder.

And as I look at them, so close, they look like old friends who are the overly friendly type. A clear sign of friends with benefits. He shouldn't be anywhere near her if I'm the one he chose to bring here tonight. Especially after all that was said on the dance floor. I feel my face fall against my own stupidity, a broken expression. _He's played you . . ._

As his eyes land on me a shocked expression takes over his face. He brushes Elena off with a harsh quip and excuses himself from his conversation as I turn on my heel and walk in the opposite direction of him. My heels perform my fury as they click angrily against the marble floor of the entrance hallway. I hike up my dress and hurriedly race down the marble stairs into the crisp cold air of the night. I need to get away from here, far away. I need to break free from this suffocation. The feeling of being held hostage by the throat at the sight of her and him against all of his words spoken to me.

 _How could he?_ My inner voice booms. I trusted him. _All of those things he said while we were dancing . . ._

I can't believe this.

"How can you be so _stupid_!" I scold myself as I dash tears from my eyes. "He ropes you in. Charms you. And you fall into his hands like a limp fucking airhead." I bash myself. " _Idiot_." I charge forward.

"ANASTASIA. ANA," he calls after me.

I hear his quick footsteps behind me, catching up with ease. I scold the shoes on my feet. I'd be out of here by now if it weren't for these God damn heels. He walks beside me now, his strides matching my own.

"Ana," he speaks desperately. "Anastasia, please." he softly reaches out and holds my arms as he spins me to look at him. "She means nothing. I promise. She's nothing." he eyes me with sincerity radiating out of every pore. His eyes speak the truth. "Nothing." he whispers, wrapping me in his arms.

"It didn't look like _nothing_." I snap angrily.

I push him away. I feel a harsh sob escape my throat as he tries to envelope me in a hug. "How can I know?" my breath hitches. "She's so much more than me. You two are so comfortable together."

"You outshine her, Ana. That's why she has the face of a bitch and the tone of an angry barking chihuahua. She knows you rank higher than her and she's jealous. As for that embrace, it's nothing. That's how Elena is. She'd clutch onto anyone. I'm too used to it to care by now."

"What?" _Me? Ranking higher than Elena?_ I try not to laugh. "You could have anyone." I cry. "Like a younger version of Elena. Someone so fantastic."

"I don't want anyone and everyone. I want you."

"Why me?" I cry.

"You hold so many more cards than you see, Ana. You're beautiful. You're loyal. You're smart. You're sexy. You keep me guessing. You keep me chasing . . . it's all so thrilling." his eyes are wide with excitement.

"I don't see it." I shake my head.

"I know. You're blind to your own beauty." he agrees. "All because of that fucker." he spits.

"Don't talk about him." Tears escape my eyes. "Don't remind me."

Christian wraps me tightly in his arms. A protective hold that has me wrapped tightly into his warm embrace.

"It's nothing?" I check. "I don't like you around her. I hate her. She's mean."

He studies the pain in my eyes. "Okay. You hate her, I understand. She's at arms length. She works for me but I won't touch her again. I get where you're coming from." he assures.

I fight the sob that escapes my quivering lips. _At least he's mature enough to get it . . ._

"Can I take you somewhere?" he asks softly, a delicate whisper against my ear as he holds me firmly.

"As long as it's not a bedroom." I say.

He laughs at my humor. "I know you're not going to open your legs easily." he mumbles against my skin. "I want to show you one of my favorite places."

"Oh," I murmur in surprise. "I'd like that." I wipe my tears, feeling the rush of anger deflate.

His thumb sweeps under my eyes, clearing my cheeks from the stinging wetness and kisses my forehead. "Come on, let me show you something." he squeezes me to him before shrugging off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. He takes my hand in his and leads me down the dark street towards Taylor and his awaiting SUV.

As we drive away from the elegant venue and through the distinguished areas of London, I notice the high life being left behind the further we travel. We head towards North London and not a very nice part. Wherever we are, it's all run down and dirty, some places being boarded up and some places looking as if there falling apart. I've never been here before . . . not that I'd want to be. It's not exactly a place I would fancy walking through. I feel safe inside the car. I'm not sure how safe I'd feel leaving it. It's seems a little rough around here.

I watch Christian gazing out the window at a group of youths on the corner, all of them loud and hollering incoherent slurs. He seems so relaxed. The way he sits back against his seat with deflated shoulders, not an ounce of tension clutching his muscles or worry on his face. He's very familiar with this area.

The car rolls to a stop outside a boarded up building. It's like an old factory, really old. And really run down, too. This is his favorite place? Out of everything London has to offer, this is a place he worships? Taylor gets out and unlocks the steel door of the factory and undoes the pad lock that keeps others out.

"Come." Christian urges.

I get out of the car and take his hand. "Interesting place." I comment, my eyes spinning around.

He smiles, a smile of knowing. He gets that I'm confused, but behind the mischievous glint in his eye I know he has something to show me.

"Trust me."

"I do." I assure.

Christian leads me through the door and inside. A few lights flicker on, motion censors against our movements I'm guessing?

"Is this is factory?" I wonder, it's bare empty and I can't tell.

"No. It was an old sweet shop. They used to make all of the sweets back here and at the front there was a store. It's a really old place, dates back to the war times. It went down hill back when the recession hit in 08." he tells me as he leads me up some stairs. "This is the viewing deck."

On one side you can see the old dated sweetshop, all wooden counters, glass jars and check out machines and on the other is the worn out factory. The supply rooms, the kitchens, the old branding machines.

"And here is the top floor attic." he opens up a cracked wooden door.

"W-o-w." I'm taken aback. "This is incredible." I bite down on my lip as amazement washes over me. It all clicks.

We're standing at the top of the attic facing the bay windows that reflect London's skyline. You can see everything shining in it's glory. The River Thames. Big ben. The London eye. St. Paul's. Houses of parliament. The financial buildings. They're all so beautiful captured by our viewing point.

Christian leans casually against the wall and gazes out at sleeping London. "I first came here when I was a teen." he says.

My breath hitches at his tone, _he's opening up to me_.

"What a place to find." I admire.

"Yeah," he agrees. "It made me feel less alone after escaping foster care." he admits.

"Foster care?" I blurt in surprise.

"I'm from this area. I was born in this district." he glances below at the run down buildings. "My parents weren't exactly great to begin with."

"I'm sorry." My heart aches for him.

He shrugs. "It's all right. I've done well for myself without them." he smiles sadly.

 _Still . . ._ I feel like saying but stop myself. I don't want to hammer down on him when he's opening up.

"You sound very posh." I comment, "For someone who came from this area."

He smiles. "I got a scholarship to private school. It's easy to perform like the rich when you eat alongside of them for long enough."

"Yeah," I agree.

"And when you sit at the head of their table you realize they're exactly like everyone else if not as bad. It's only their tone that's different." his eyes wander into his brain. It's like he's recalling some memories and walking down a viewing path. With the way he talks I know he's been around the block a few times to be wise enough to see through people with bags of money. It's like he sees all classes as equal. The rich are no better off than the poor, and the poor are no better off than the rich.

I wait in the silence for him to go on but he doesn't. He shifts against the wall and walks over to me. His eyes shine with an unreadable emotion as his body curves in around me from behind. He rests his chin on my shoulder and we both gaze out at this wonderfully crazy city.

I hum as he starts kissing my neck and with the way I'm feeling towards him I can't help but tilt my head sideways and allow him to gain more access to my tender flesh. I turn in his arms and look up into his eyes. Deep sea blue against forest green, both questioning the confusing feelings going on between us. Our eyes hold each other, creating a moment between us.

Our lips crash together as our fingers entwine briefly before our hands break free and start roaming each other's bodies. I moan into Christian's mouth as he pulls me to him in a tight embrace, wrapping me strongly in his arms as he dominates my tongue. My hands slide over his back, exploring his broad shoulders and muscular torso as his hands roam around my waist and get a feel of my hips. I gasp for breath as he breaks our kiss and trails sweet bites down my neck to the curve of my shoulder.

"Christian," I whimper breathlessly in pleasure. "Mm."

He continues kissing me, moving my dress to unveil the ugly scar that decorates my chest and collarbone. His touches are so delicate, his kisses so sweet. Any anxiety I've had about him touching me float away. His lips worship me and I worship him right back. My hands in his hair as I pull him back to my lips and throw myself into our kiss. My tongue swirling with his as kicks of pleasure run through my body and heat my skin.

"Would you like to keep your lipstick moustache or would you like me to take it off?" I giggle, looking at my smudged redish lipstick smeared across his mouth as we break apart.

"Well, I do love being marked." He leans in close and bites my earlobe. I moan. "But...I do have to go and face Taylor. I'm not sure he'll take me too seriously while I'm wearing lipstick."

I giggle, reaching into my clutch and taking out my Vaseline. I dip my finger into it and smear it all over his lips, philtrum and chin before taking a tissue and gently wiping it all away. The lipstick comes off clean and he's back looking like himself again. Handsome.

"What time is it?" I wonder, fixing myself in the broken mirror.

"Almost six," he peeks out at the rising sun through the small stone window.

"Four hours of none stop kissing. That's a first." I smile.

"A first of many," I watch him coming up behind me in the mirror.

I smile as Christian wraps his arms around me from behind and rests his chin on my shoulder, his soft scratchy stubble tickling my sensitive skin.

I eye out swollen lips, a sweet vision of our passion. I lean my head into his tenderly and delicately kiss the side of his temple.

"Thank you." I whisper warmly against his ear.

"I should be thanking you." he nuzzles his chin into my neck.

I hum, "We can thank each other." I decide.

"I can thank you with breakfast."

"I'd like that. I'm famished." My stomach rumbles in agreement.

"It's settles then." he smiles, pulling me back to slip his shoes on.

I'm surprised at my disappointment at the loss of connection. I don't like that he's pulled away from me. I feel cold without him holding me.

Christian and I look bizarre sitting outside Winston's Cafe that's snuggled into the prestigious Kensington area. He's disheveled sitting in last nights tux, no jacket with his bow tie hanging out of his breast pocket and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. And I'm crinkled in my silk black gown and scuffed high heels. We share coffee and toast, childishly fighting over the final slice before his gentlemanly manner takes over and he gives it to me freely, but not before snagging a cheeky bite that leaves me giggling.

There's a comfortable silence at the table while we dig in to our scrambled eggs and waffles, the both of us engrossed in our own worlds while being at ease with each other like a true couple. Christian reads the financial times and I'm all about the gossip pages – eyeing up my competition.

"I think we should get out of here." Christian suggests as we finish up, early morning risers starting to fill the streets.

"Agreed." I giggle. We look ridiculous.

Christian pays for breakfast despite my protests to half the bill and then guides me to his car. Taylor opens up the doors for us and starts towards my house.

"When will I see you again?" Christian wonders as we near my street.

"I don't know," I'm clueless. "When are you free?"

"For you? Always." he hold my hand in his lap. "I'd like to take you out on a proper date."

"Oh," I'm flattered. "I'd like that." I admit with a shy smile.

"Are you free Wednesday?"

"Wednesday? Yeah, sounds good." I smile just as we stop outside my door.

"I'll be here at eight on Wednesday." he promises.

"See you then," I lean in and press my lips to his.

I giggle as he wraps his arms around me for more but I pull back and wink at him.

"Wednesday." I whisper as I slip out of the car as he comes crawling after me.

I laugh as he pouts against my running lips, not liking that I've slithered out of his grasp.

 _Wednesday . . ._

 **A/N – Please Review!**

 **Thank you all for reading and for the feedback, I love hearing your opinions and it keeps me writing! Happy Holidays :) Updating next Tuesday. . . hope you enjoy! Xx. Camilla 'Millie' Rose.**


	7. Chapter 6: Work

**A/N – Happy Holidays! Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it! Here's the next chapter. I tried my hand at Christian's perspective. I hope you like it. Here's the next chapter a little early since it's Christmas . . . thank you for reading. Please Review! Enjoy the holidays. Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx.**

 **CHRISTIAN'S POV**

I lean back in my seat, resting my head on the back of my chair and let out an almighty sigh. After two exhausting conference calls and working through dozens of e-mails, it's safe to say that my brain is fried. It's been a busy morning, transitioning the afternoon to be slow and unproductive. My mood is a little low today. I don't feel like working too hard. I'm not bothered with the rest of my agenda after having such a stiff morning.

I think of the one thing on this earth that lightens my mood; Anastasia. _Mm . . ._ her lips against mine. Her full hips enveloped in the silk. Her love-handles teasing me to pinch them. Her breasts perky as they hide pointedly behind the material. I can't get the image out of my head. And then to have her under me. My lips on her neck and my tongue down her throat. Saturday couldn't of been a better night. Her body curved against me to fit the perfect shape. Her warmth. The smell of her hair, lavender locks that intoxicate my senses. Her sexy body pressed against mine and feeling heavenly under the pressure of my hips. Her whisper soft whimpers of pleasure. Fuck . . . I want her.

Thinking of our night together places a permanent smile on my lips. She was so beautiful at the State Dinner. So unlike everyone there. Her face and hair were flawlessly decorated, her dress not being as upscale and expensive as the rest, but she made it look that way. The way she carried herself. Such a lady. An elegant rose among so many thorns.

The only thing that irked me was how low she seemed when talking about work. The stress on her face when talking about her potential unemployment due to articles not being able to be written. That stress and worry that hid in the crevices of her eyes bugged me. I know I have to help her out. I have to give over some information. I don't really care that much since it'll be out there once this business deal hits. Ana will just be the first one to publish it.

I know snooping is wrong but in order to figure out what we can put into this article that'll be filled with new information I need to know everything that has been said about me and the best way to find out is through Ana.

I type in her name and wait for the searches to be delivered. Surprisingly, not much comes up. All of her articles, her e-mail, a few letters and documents. Nothing out of the ordinary on her part. Except for a few e-mail chats that have nothing to do with her, yet her name seems to be a pretty popular topic and target.

My teeth click in irritation. I frown harshly when seeing the active e-mail chat overflowing with content. Who at Ana's work would be talking about her and using such informal language? That's not professional. Who is this Elizabeth Woods? And, why is she talking about Ana?

I click into the chat and scan the conversation, not liking what I see one bit.

 **M:** Did you see Ana Steele out with Christian Grey the other night! :O

 **E:** What? No! Where and when? What the fuck! Ana!

 **M:** There are so many pictures of them together!

 **E:** Where?

 **M:** Galore publishing house just got the rights to print the photos. They'll be out by Friday's issue.

 **E:** What! Ana should be writing about this! She was there for fuck sake . . . what the hell would Christian Grey want with someone like Ana? She's ugly. And getting fat by the looks of her tree trunk thighs.

 **M:** She's not that ugly! She looked alright next to him. A little puffy and in need of some serious posture pointers but other than that she looked pretty good.

 **E:** I doubt that! She most definitely didn't win the lottery of genes . . . or brains. Where were they?

 **M:** Yeah. He took her to the State Dinner. They arrived together. Ate together. Danced together. Molly from the news channel was telling me everything she saw. They looked cozy. And they left together . . .

 **E:** That skank! I always knew she was low in class. Sleepy around with the rich, what's new! I have to tell Carrick all about this . . . finally a news story worth reading about. The gossip pages will be flipping at the inside details. I'll make sure to poke it out of Ana, make sure to get _every_ detail.

 **M:** I want to be the first to know _everything_! Xx.

 **E:** You will. Once she gets back from her lunch break I'm sitting her down. xx.

My finger jams down on the buzzer, alerting Taylor to have the car ready A.S.A.P.

"Mr. Grey, you have a meeting." Stephanie complains from reception when I shrug my coat on and hurry towards the elevators.

"Cancel it. I have business elsewhere." I call back as I step into the elevator and the doors close against her floored expression.

My foot taps impatiently as I descend downwards, the dial on my watch is ticking too fast for my liking. I have to get to Anastasia's work before this bitch sits her down and treats her like a rag doll. How dare she insult someone and verbally abuse them online! She's supposed to be professional. And who cares if Ana did sleep with me that night, not that she did, but whether she did or she didn't it's none of this woman's business.

I stalk towards my awaiting car and jump in the backseat. I order Taylor to floor it. He weaves through the traffic, making excellent timing. It's not to long before he's parked outside the publishing house.

I stride through the glass doors and approach the front desk of Ana's workplace full of my own self importance. I'm hear to deal with this bitch and make sure she gets slapped down for her wrong doings and I know exactly how to approach the situation.

"I'm here to see Carrick Trevylan." I present to a bored woman tapping against a keyboard.

She doesn't look up so I clear my throat.

Her eyes meet mine and the moment the lightbulb clicks in her head she's all over me like a hot rash. "Mr. Grey. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize it was you. May I get you anything? A glass of water? Tea or coffee?" she tramples over her own words.

"I want nothing but to see Mr. Trevylan." I force.

"Just one moment." she rises from her seat and disappears down a hallway.

I roll my eyes at her lack of understanding for her job. Aren't receptionists supposed to offer their guests a seat? I take it upon myself to sit down on the leather armchair. My freshly pressed designer suit looks to clean against such a worn out piece of crap. God love Anastasia for having to work _here_.

"Mr. Grey." Carrick appears.

Jesus, he's disheveled. I'd rather be shot dead than be seen at work in a crumpled cheap shirt and trousers that don't even fit properly. I can see his ankles. And he's wearing white sports socks with black work loafers.

"What can I do you for?" he shakes my hand too enthusiastically.

I squeeze his hand firmly, letting him know with one gesture that I'm not here to play games. "I think we should take this matter to your office." I advise.

He straightens up and nods his head. "Of course. This way." he almost trips as we head down a narrow hallway. His staff are crammed like cattle to the left of us and his office looks like a pig sty, all stacked papers, files everywhere and a packet of biscuits and their crumbs on the desk.

"Have a seat." he offers, clearing the leather chair of his belongings. "What can I help you with?" he wonders, sitting behind his desk while struggling to look me in the eyes. He's pouring with sweat already. He's feeling the heat, the pressure. And I'm glad. A taste of his own medicine.

"You can help me with nothing." I sound bored, and I am. He looks shit at his job and by the sounds of it, he is. "You've been publishing articles upon articles about me. The head of this company is a close client of mine and I'm sure he'll be unhappy to know that you sent one of your employees to a gala of mine under a false name in the attempt to gain information and build an article from it. I'm not happy one bit about it." I tell him.

His cheeks drain of color. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grey." I eye him sternly. " _Sir_. I'm very apologetic about that. I hadn't a clue. _Steele_ , it must have been Ms. Steele who went on her own agenda. You know how staff are. Anything for some recognition." he tries to fay lightheartedness with his crooked smile and tone.

"Bullshit." I call. "Blaming your staff for your decisions is not only disgustingly wrong but also illegal. I could do you for so many counts of immoral conduct. I'd be happy to have a little chat with your boss, my client, about all of this. Unfortunately he's on vacation and I'm left dealing with you." I lie. I wouldn't bother bringing this to his boss, all I want is for them to get off Anastasia's back. That look of worry when she told me she could be fired is the reason I'm here. And to get that bitch from talking about her like that.

"Sir, that won't be necessary. I'm so sorry. It won't happen again." he's pleading with me.

"Ms. Steele will be left alone from now on." I pin. "As for Elizabeth spouting ugly comments towards the employees within your department, I'd make sure you do something about that before I take this matter to a higher level. I've heard and seen her abusive comments. I might remind you that my staff work very closely with the PR department upstairs. I hear everything. And what I'm hearing at the moment isn't something I like. These articles are Anastasia's to publish and she is in control of what is printed about me. I won't have any made up stories printed to fill your payroll, understood?" I bark.

"Yes, Sir." his jugular is pulsing.

"Good." I stand. "Ms. Steele is going to write an article about me. And I'm due for an interview. She's a woman of skill you have here, you might want to take a deeper look into the talent around your office rather than stuffing your face." I order, eyeing his biscuits. "Good day." I announce politely.

"Good day." he replies lamely from his seat. He's like a lamb having been mauled by a lion.

I walk down the hallway, my eyes scanning for Ana. I find her sitting across from another woman in a board room with glass walls. I walk through the door, not bothering to knock. I barge in.

"Christian!" Ana's eyes are wide in surprise.

I want to smile at her but can't help but frown when I see an aged woman sitting before her that carries a sour expression.

"Anastasia." I greet with a warm tone, feeling comfortable in this board room. It's small and cramped with chairs, and it's nothing that would intimidate me. I feel as if I own the room. Making me too comfortable within it. "I take it you're Elizabeth?" I question, keeping my tone contained. _Keep cool, Grey!_

"Yes, Sir." she squeaks.

I eye her harshly. I'm letting her know who's boss. And as I scan her over, I can't help but make internal comments about her appearance. No offense intended against her appearance, but, the tide wouldn't take her out. She's old and fat and granny like. Why the hell is she still operating on this floor, let alone so concerned with what Anastasia's doing. God, you'd think someone at her age in life wouldn't care two shits about anyone else's story.

"I am Christian Grey." I announce, extending my hand to her. _Keep it polite, Grey!_ I talk myself through this. "I'm here about an article Anastasia is supposed to be interviewing me about. We agreed to meet here but I've got a hectic day ahead and I'd like it if Ana could interview me briefly at my office and then work with my PA on finalizing details. It would require her to leave for a couple of hours." I state with confidence. Shoulders high and chin angled up in a snooty way. I'm making sure to rub it in, for Ana's sake. This woman is all over jealous. Envious at best.

"I'm sure that's okay. I'll just ask Carrick, our –" she starts.

I cut her off, "No need. Carrick and I already had a _little_ chat." I eye her again. And with the slight gulp that runs down her throat she knows she's knee deep in some shit.

I smile against her worried expression. Now she's got a taste of how she makes Ana feel. And I'll make sure she feels this miserable if she dares talk out of turn again.

"Anastasia." I look expectantly at her. "If you'll come with me?" I try to sound authoritative and not so friendly. We need to play this right so no questions are raised.

We walk out of the board room. Ana fumbling around in shock as she gathers her stuff before scuttling out the door with me.

She giggles as we stand outside. "What was that?" she exclaims.

"Nothing." I shrug nonchalantly. She doesn't need to know what was said about her on that internet chat. It'll just upset her.

"Christian." she exclaims. "Elizabeth was shitting her pants."

"As she should." I smirk. "She's a pestering cow." I spit. "She needed to be put into her place. The article will come when it comes. She can't threaten you with unemployment just for you to get a story."

Ana nods in agreement with me, "Thank you." she whispers softly. And with how grateful she sounds my chest puffs with triumph. I blew all her worry away.

"You're welcome." I feel like kissing her, but I'm aware of the blinds flickering in the windows. "Get in," I order, lightly. Gesturing to Taylor waiting in my car.

She looks at me in confusion. "Where are we going?"

"I told you you'd get a story." I urge her into the backseat. She complies without question.

I follow suit and slide in beside her.

"The middle seat?" Ana eyes me. "Really? You couldn't get any closer . . ." she teases me for sitting right by her.

I smirk happily, feeling my heart rate increase just by her presence. She looks so sexy in her work outfit. Fitted blouse, shortish skirt with stockings. I can only imagine what's underneath _. . . mm_.

I lean in and kiss her cheek, a brief warning of my intentions. When she cracks a smile I know it's okay to press my lips to hers. It's not long before her hands have filled my hair and her nails are scratching against my scalp as our lips massage each other.

I feel a kick of pleasure ignite in my groin when she fists my hair and tugs my head back away from her face.

"Christian." she's breathless with blushing cheeks, eyeing Taylor.

I should have known he'd cramp our style. She's embarrassed he's in the car with us. And I guess she has a right to be.

I sit back and hold her hand, wanting her to feel comfortable. The ride to my office is quick and short lived. As soon as Taylor stops at the curb I don't wait for him to get out and open our doors. I take Ana's hand and lead her into my building.

The elevator ride is a struggle. I'd have her pinned up against the wall, with the amount of sexual tension pulsing between us, but force myself to stay together because of the security cameras that glare down at us. I don't need the entire security and receptions teams laughing at us.

"You've got a lot of security around your office." she glances around at the four burly men guarding my door.

"I've got some clients in town." I answer.

"Oh, I think you mentioned that . . . the ones you took to the nightclub?"

I shake my head. "No . . . different clients this time." I tell her, hoping she'll drop the subject.

" _Different_." she tests the word.

And I know she knows what I'm talking about. It's not completely honest business going down at the manufacturing plant, Portugal called with a shipment and I can't do anything other than comply with their demands.

Her eyes flash with unease but with a shake of her shoulders she reassesses the questions spinning around her head and drops the subject. I breathe a sigh of relief, thank god she's not going to ask me about the drugs today. I'm really not in the mood to talk about it. And I don't want to come off as angry with her . . . I can't be harsh in my words or actions. I'll scare her off and that's the last thing I want to do. Gentle is the way to go with Ana, regarding what she's gone through with that fucker.

"You want to write an article." I say.

She nods, eyes wandering around my office. She's a nosy woman, but aren't they all?

"Here." I lift a file off my desk and pass her the report. "I had my PA write a brief summary of the Iran deal. She's proofed some pictures too. There should be quite a few new facts within the small article that's been typed up. Do whatever you like with it." I offer. "But, please. Keep the facts to the facts, don't exaggerate too much." I don't want too much air fueled under my wings. It'd annoy the fuck out of me.

"I won't." she assures, reading through it. "And the fibs?" she wonders.

I crack a smile. "We'll work on them. We have time." I kiss her lips.

"Christian." she scolds when I stand in front of her, loving the feel of her full hips in my big hands. I love being able to hold onto her and have solid flesh under my grasp. It's sexy.

I walk up towards the couch despite her resistance at first. She feels like it's wrong to miss work for this kind of personal matter, but she's not going to get into trouble. Not when she's with me. She needs to relax . . . and I have the perfect remedy.

Just as she opens her mouth to talk, I swoop down and catch her lips with mine in a searing kiss.

"Mm," I ignore her jibes and kiss her neck.

"I have to get back to work." she scolds me further.

I roll my eyes, "They know where you are. I need you here."

"You want me here." she corrects.

"That I do." I nuzzle into her.

"Christian." she squeaks in enjoyment.

She feels my bulge against her. I know she does. The way her eyes light with excitement and her breath hitches against my lips as her hands are pressed to my chest, fingers clutching the material of my shirt. She feels how much I want her. And she likes it. It feels good.

I moan into her mouth when she bounces against my lap. It's involuntary but it feels fucking blissful. My lips move to her neck, wanting to hear her moans sound out rather than get trapped in the base of my throat. I suck on her neck, basking in her whimpers as I work her skin. She's so responsive, in a genuine way, no porn-star screaming shit like Elena or the others. I let my hand slide down her waist and cup her bum, softly squeezing her plump flesh in my hand. It feels so fucking divine to hold on to some meat rather than thin flesh and bone. My cock twitches just thinking about what it would be like to slide in between he ass cheeks and pound her from behind. Her flesh jiggling with joy while I thrust deep into her tight little self.

Our mouths dominate each other, tongues rolling against one another and teeth softly nipping at each others lips. I want to mark her, to state my territory but I know she'd kill me for such a teenaged move. Especially if it was visible at work. I don't want to run myself into the dog house when I've just been granted access into her life. I hitch her leg over my hip instead and curse myself for making the move when I feel her slowly pulling away from me. _Take it fucking slow Christian . . ._ my mind scolds me.

"You don't want me?" I feel the rejection washing over me when she pulls away and starts to fix her shirt to avoid my eyes.

"Believe me, I do." her cheeks heat as she bites her lip. "I'd spread my legs right now and have you fuck me on this desk, but my self respect and standards are the barrier in the way." Her skin is scorching at her bold admission.

My eyes pop out of my head at the erotic image of her and I on my desk. _I'd like that very much . . ._ my cock twitches.

"It's just too early to jump between the sheets. This is lust, Christian." she traces the outer part of my ear, causing a ticklish tingle to shoot down the base of my neck.

I snuggle my head into her hand, "You're right, Anastasia." I say seriously. "I am lusting after you . . . but it's different than before." I admit.

With our current standing I suppose being honest with her is the best way. She knows about me and in order to keep things straight it's only fair that I'm honest in everything I feel and say even when it's daunting. I don't like opening up to people. I'm not someone to share my feelings, problems or thoughts with anyone. But, with Ana, it's different. I value her opinion. She always has something colorful to say. Her words bite into reality and demand to be felt. I always feel an impact against her voice. Most people talk and I don't remember what they've said. With Ana, it's like her words follow me. Everything she says has meaning.

"How is it different?" her voice is soft with wonder.

I gaze down into her forest green eyes. "It's different because I care for you. All the women around me don't care for much else than wealth and status. They're ditzy against a pretty face and some cash. _You_ , it seems as if you couldn't care less. And maybe it's because you've seen it and written about it so much that it doesn't faze you. You write all about wealth and have realized it all has no meaning. It's vacant and meaningless against what's import in life. I admire that about you. How you value the difference in life rather than the mainstream. It's refreshing." I kiss her cheek gently. She's so delicate, I don't want to harm her.

I pull back, giving her the respect she wants despite my desires. She seems to appreciate my movements, as she kisses my lips repeatedly a few times and caresses my cheek with her soft finger tips before pulling away and straightening up.

"Let's get this article written," I decide, walking behind my desk and getting comfortable.

She smiles in agreement. "Lets,"

Abruptly, my office door swings open with a clatter. Ana jumps as I rise from my seat to assess the situation.

"Grey, we have to talk." _He_ orders.

I stay cool, even though I'm sure a bead of sweat starts to form at the edge of my temples. I keep my eyes forward, my jaw locked and my stance tall.

"Of course." I comply. "Ms. Steele and I were just finishing up." I say with a leveled voice. Ana flashes her eyes at me in bafflement.

He nods shortly, his eyes impatiently darting to Ana and her presence. He's used to girls running in the opposite direction at his showing. But, not Ana. She doesn't know who he is. And she wouldn't want to.

"You should head back to work, Anastasia." I use my authoritative voice.

Her forehead crinkles in confusion, pulling her eyebrows closely knit together. "Okay," she stumbles over her word, unsure of what is going on around her.

She immediately crawls into her shell. All curled shoulders, sunken posture and eyes to the floor. As if to make herself as little as possible and invisible. She feels the awkwardness and the tension within the room. And I don't blame her for wanting to run away. The look in her eyes is not a look I like to see. She's nervous. Almost scared. And the worst thing of all is; I am too.

"Taylor will take you home." I add, eyeing _him_ as he eyes Ana. And I don't like the intent behind his eyes. My core burns with protest.

His jaw is clamped tight with judging eyes. He waits quietly, boiling in his spot. With how the vein pulses in his neck I know he's here to point the finger. And I'm his prime target. This unannounced meeting is not something I wish to deal with right now, but like everything in this dirty business, it has to be dealt with quickly. Snap decisions have to be made. And with the look in his eyes he's full of ideas and decision. And I'll be the puppet to make it happen for him . . . _or else_.

Ana scurries out and although I wish to escort her to the door and make sure she makes it safely into the elevator, I'm forced to stand stock still behind my desk and watch her with commanding eyes. I'd rather look over her like an employee so no questions are asked than be slightly affectionate and have comments passed back and forth between he and I. In no way will I throw Ana into the firing line, even if it's just a few amateur questions about her. _He_ doesn't need to know a thing about her.

"We have some business to talk about." he lowers himself into the seat in front of my desk, looking too comfortable in here.

"We do." I agree, confidently.

I lower myself with ease into my seat and rest my forearms on the desk and stare straight into his eyes. It's like looking into the eyes of the devil. Vacant and cold within the blazing fire. No mercy. Not an ounce of remorse for any actions he's ever taken. No warmth. Nothing but harsh coldness and explosive fire that tears through all things and disintegrates it all to nothing. A true demon at work. The devil masked within a human body. An angelic face to hide the malicious freak with horns beneath.

And a constant reminder to me of my early life. A life I wish to leave behind but it always seems to come back and bite me right in the ass. And the more successful I get, the more it seems to consume my existence.

 **A/N – Please Review!**

 **Thank you all for reading and for the feedback, I love hearing your opinions and it keeps me writing! Happy Holidays :) See you next week. Xx. Camilla 'Millie' Rose.**


	8. Chapter 7: Confessions

**A/N – Happy New Year 2017! Apologies this is late, it's the holidays! Thank you for reading and for the feedback. Enjoy :) Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx.**

 **CONFESSIONS**

The sky was glowing with warmth. Red and orange mixed to make the perfect sunset, shafts of light casting through the puffy clouds. It was striking in its simplicity. The fiery golden ball started to fall and fade on the horizon, giving warning that only minutes of light were left before we were captivated by darkness.

I laze in Christian's arms as we watch the sunset. I hadn't expected him to surprise me after work and bring me back to where we had spent our first night together. Being back at the worn down factory staring at the world go by was strangely becoming one of my favorite things. I couldn't think of a better place to be than in Christian's arms.

"You know, I've been wondering about you since we last saw each other." he starts, squeezing my hand softly in his as he gazes out at the dark sky.

"What have you been wondering about?" I ask with curiosity, the look beneath his eyes tells me he has been in deep thought.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Try me." I urge.

He sits up and I do to. I stare in confusion at his sudden seriousness. His shoulders have become square, his eyes focused and forward, his muscles tensed.

I search his eyes as his mouth moves to open. "What really happened that made you move to London? I know _he_ was abusive and _he_ did _that_ to you. But, why flee? You didn't tell anybody . . ."

I sigh deeply and shift my eyes from Christian's penetrating stare.

I gaze out the window at London's chaotic night and shift uncomfortably as the memories flood my brain. A chill runs down my back as I remember _him_. The man who scared me so deep I'm forever tortured.

Christian waits. And waits. A long silence stretching between us. I feel his eyes burning into my temple as he waited for me to talk but I keep mum. I focus on the birds landing on the rooftop opposite to ours, ducking their heads under the streams of water in the gutters and hunting for food, trying to look interested as I silently wish for the conversation to change its course but with the stubbornness Christian carried and his intense curiosity for information, I knew it was just that; a wish.

"You can tell me," his voice is calm. "I won't tell anyone."

"You promise?"

"I promise." he vowed, and the sincerity in his eyes told me he was being genuine.

"I don't really know where to start," I admit with a frustrated sigh. At this point, that messy past has rolled into a blur of memories and inconsistent with time. I can't even think of a time frame of when it all happened or how it all happened, it just happened.

"Well, why don't you tell me about how you both met?"

"Our families are friends." I shrug. "My mother and his mother were the best of friends since school, they did everything together. And then his mother died of cancer – my mum cared for her for a long while when she was sick – and he and I were pushed together a lot through our teen years. I always saw him as a brother, but he had different ideas.

"There was a lot of pressure to be together. My mum promised to watch over him. It would be easier to do that if he was married into the family. Not something I wanted, but everybody else seemed to have other ideas. So, to please my mum I began dating him at University. It was fine for the first year. I wasn't happy in our relationship, but I was content to a certain point. It was easy at first, and then we moved in with each other . . . and everything changed."

"What changed?" Christian urges.

I sigh. "It was little by little. At first, he got frustrated with school and would punch walls when his grades dipped. He flipped out when he was told he failed a semester. He took a baseball bat to the kitchen sink and broke the piping. I just thought it was a mental breakdown, I put his anger down to stress and bereavement. I never really considered him having an anger problem. I just thought he was going through a bad time . . . and then he hit me. I'll never forget it."

Christian is angry. I can tell by his puffed chest and tight features. He's struggling to compose himself.

"We shouldn't talk about this if it's going to upset you." I whisper.

"I need to know, Ana. Please keep going," he pushes.

"Ask me a question." I say, struggling to get a grip on the timeline of what really happened.

"When was the first time he hit you?"

I feel myself curl up a little, my shoulders curving inwards. "I was getting ready to go out with my friends. He wasn't happy with the people I was meeting at the movies. He got paranoid about some guy I had class with. I went to get my jacket, he blocked my path and I attempted to push past him. That was when he slapped me for the first time. I got scared and locked myself in the bathroom for the whole night."

"You told no one?"

I shake my head. "He had me emotionally manipulated. He'd cry in front of me and make me feel sorry for him. It was only the first time and he said it was an accident. That it would never happen again. I believed him. I let it go and didn't utter a word."

"But, it did happen again." Christian states, staring at me as I keep my eyes fixated on the wooden floor.

"Yeah. He then started to get angry about the tiniest of things. I couldn't drop my book by accident without him calling me names or hounding me with insults. I went from being a normal girl with confidence and the normal insecurities every university student has, to being a girl who lacked self esteem and couldn't look into peoples eyes or talk loud above a whisper. He ruined my personality. I was self-conscious about everything. I lost my laugh. I didn't find anything amusing anymore. My mind was fucked. And soon enough, my friends filtered out and dwindled away. I had nobody but him."

"Your friends surely noticed you change." Christian's voice is clipped. I know he's trying to keep him cool. He doesn't want to bombard me with questions.

"It was over a period of time. It didn't just happen all at once. I didn't wake up one morning and I was different, people would have asked questions if it had happened like that. It was small things that added up to make the big picture. When they'd call to hang out I'd decline, I didn't view myself a pretty or a nice person to be around. And after a long time of declining they stopped calling. People thought my personality was changing, they didn't view me as fun anymore." I shrug, blinking rapidly to move the moisture that threatens to fill my eyes.

"What about the abuse? Nobody saw the bruises?"

"That was part of the rules. I was only allowed to wear long pants and long sleeved sweatshirts. It covered everything. It was like being in prison, Christian. Absolute hell. The devil tells you what to wear, what to eat, what to do and when to do it. And if it's not done the way he likes, you get a fist in the gut for your trouble and a kick in the ass." I mumble. "The only break I got was when he passed out from all the alcohol he drank. He'd get so pissed and sleep in the armchair all night. It's how I kept up with my school work and got my thesis's written."

"What about your scar?" his eyes scan over my brutal wound.

I go quiet at the memory. The flashback wasn't easy to see; the image of him lurking at the bottom of the stairs as I pray for him not to discover my hiding place. The moment his dark wasted eyes fell on mine through the gap within the blinds and his heavy boots bounded across the room. I feel like throwing up at the thoughts of what he did to me.

I clear my throat. "I got scared. He had beat me pretty bad a few days before. He was on a whiskey binge. I knew he'd want sex . . . rough sex. I hated him for it. And I didn't want to do it. So I hid beneath the windowpane in a glass cupboard and turned down the blinds so he wouldn't see me. Eventually, after much searching, screaming and sick games; he found me. He pulled me by the roots of my hair from my hiding place and threw me around like a ragged doll. I tried to stop him, to defend myself and that was when the knife came into play. He held me in front of the mirror, arm choking me around the neck as he lifted the blade to my chest and then he cut. He cut deep and made me watch. He kept on piercing the blade deep and I got so scared he'd hit a valuable organ, I kicked my leg back and hit him in the balls. He fell to the ground and I ran. I ran and never looked back." I whimper, my head in my hands as I struggle to keep myself together against the dreadful memory.

"I'm so sorry, Ana." Christian whispers as he wraps his arms around me. He folds me into his protective embrace, holding me tight against him as I cry silently into his neck.

"You're so brave." he compliments while rubbing my back.

"I don't feel brave. I watch over my shoulder at every turn." I complain, clawing at his neck as I hold him.

"You are brave, darling. The courage you had to get out of that abusive environment and move on with your life and get yourself together again. A home, a job, a stable life. You faced the storm and beat it. If you faced most people with what you went through, they'd be still wallowing in misery and be getting intensive psychiatric help. You've stood tall. That's something you need to be proud of, Ana. You're not what he dragged you down to be. You know you're not." he showers my cheek in kisses. "Thank you for opening up to me. For telling me the details."

"I do it in the hope you'll open up to me." I admit.

"I will, Ana. One day." he promises.

"Okay." I softly curve my lips upwards. "I don't want to be sad about it, Christian. It's in the past. He's gone."

"And you won't tell me where he is?" Christian's eyes are heated.

"No. You'll kill him." I bite my lip.

"You know I would. All I need is his name." he's serious.

I roll my eyes. "That's not what I want. He lives his own tortured life. He's a tormented man. Let him rot in his own living hell."

"I won't ever do what he did to you, Ana. I'll never raise my hand to you. Ever." Christian vows.

"I know." I peck his lips. "Thank you for reassuring me, though." I plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Are you okay?" he looks concerned.

"Yes." I answer honestly. "You promised me dinner, are you going to keep good on your promise?" I change the subject.

He stands up and helps me to my feet. "Come," he holds my hand in his.

Taylor drops us off at Bond Street. A road lined with prestigious designer boutiques and ultra expensive jewelry stores. Christian holds my hand as we wander down the impressively lit street, caressing my hand a few times with his thumb. I know he's upset about my past and what happened to me, it's why he's keeping me so close to him.

Christian eyes many of the windows of stores, "Come. Take a look." He pulls me in the direction of the jewelers.

The sparkly diamond necklaces and rings shine against the light illuminating their expensive bodies. Each ring holds a rock that would sink you straight to the bottom of the ocean if you were to go swimming with it on. They're too big for my taste. A complete waste of money, even. They're loud and obnoxious and flaunting.

"Diamonds; a girls best friend." Christian chimes with a smile.

"Mmmm . . ." I hum, sounding unconvinced.

"Maybe not to all women?" His tone changes with his expression. A flash of confusion sits heavy on his furrowed eyebrows, the inside of his lip being taken captive by his teeth as he chews questioningly. "You don't like jewelry?" He asks.

"I don't favor it." I shrug. "It's nice but not always necessary."

"What do you mean?" There is wonder filling his voice.

"Well, women – most women – wear jewelry as a sign of wealth. The bigger the diamond the richer the assumption of wealth. And, while I like getting dressed up for a gala and accessorizing, I'm not too interested in the mainstream field of wearing big engagement rings, diamond necklaces to brunch and chunky diamond bracelets that can't go unnoticed. It's a little obvious that you're trying to flaunt and assure people of your wealth. All you need to do is look around, especially London's hotspots, filled with women dripping in expensive jewelry, clothing, handbags, shoes. And while I like dressing well, I'm just not into the whole competition of it. I find it sad. People trying to outdo each other all the time by prancing around showing their wealth. It's one thing to drive a nice car and have a nice house, but big watches, bracelets, diamond rings and necklaces that the eye can see a mile away. It's a bit much for me. Maybe it's just my personal taste?" I shrug, leaving the question hanging in the air.

"Maybe," Christian agrees as we continue to walk down the street. "So, you don't like jewelry?" his head looks like it's spinning.

"Not really, no. Not the mainstream culture, anyway." I respond.

"Noted." he grumbles in thought.

I roll my eyes. "I don't want you buying me things." I tell him.

He doesn't respond. Instead, he ignores me by looking into some more shop windows. We aimlessly roam around for a little while, Christian's distraction leaving me with my own heavy thoughts that form piercing questions.

"Can I ask you something?" I comment as a thought pops into my head.

"Anything," he mumbles back.

"The man that was in your office on Monday, is he a client of yours?" I wonder.

"Yes." his tone is clipped, his expression changing against my words. He walks more stiffly than usual.

"An important client?" I guess. He's become so guarded, it's off putting.

"Yes. Why are you so curious?" he exasperates.

"Well, you rushed me out of there. I'm assuming he's not exactly kosher."

"Not quite." Christian mumbles, distracting himself by staring through some shop windows.

I roll my eyes at his childlike behavior.

"And you're not going to tell me about him . . ." I conclude. His mono-syllable way of answering is frustrating to say the least. Especially when I have so many questions running around my head.

"No. I'm not. You don't need to know who he is or what he does. It's business." his tone bites the sudden tension between us.

I frown at him. "You're in the firing line with him, aren't you?" I feel a lump rise in my throat. It's as if he's cornered by something or someone. He's so uncomfortable talking to me about this topic. The way he's trying to stay composed but it's his eyes that falter his whole act.

Christian looks frustrated by my assumption. His eyes cloud with harsh tones and crash with the already high uncertainty within his irises.

"I'm not cornered by anything. It's business." he mutters bitterly.

"Dirty business?" I clarify.

"Yes, Anastasia. Dirty business that's a pain in the ass but that doesn't mean I'm held by the balls by someone else." he seethes.

"Okay," I sigh heavily, not liking his flared temper. "I'm just curious."

"Can you not be for once?"

I bite the inside of my cheek so I don't snap back. I'm in the mood to take him on but he's angry and I'm pretty sure it runs deeper than my questioning. He's angry that I was in his office in the same company of that man who barged in. He's angry with himself for letting that happen. I can see it in him. He's blaming himself over something I can't understand.

"Are you going to be angry for long?" I sulk. I hate fighting with anybody. It's my natural instinct to fight it out until it's resolved.

Christian tilts his head to the side, thinking. "I'm not angry." he finally says in a cooled tone.

"You were." I accuse.

"Yes."

"About?" I urge. I want to know.

"You bombard me sometimes. All the rapid fire questions. All the conclusions. It's annoying. Nothing irritates me more than being pried at about something I don't want to talk about. I don't like it when you challenge me and make accusations. It's not fair."

"How is it not fair?" I wonder.

"You can hear it in my voice that I don't want to answer and you still poke me for information. When I'm not ready to tell you something it'd be nice if you let it go rather than nagging me about it." he tells me with fierce eyes. Every word he speaks is true.

I feel guilty against his words. He's right. My curiosity wins over common sense every time. Heck, that's how I found out about his dirty work. I knew he didn't want to talk about it and I persisted with my line of questioning. It's not fair, especially when he shuts up when I'm finished speaking. I really should be more gracious when it comes to his limits as he is with me.

"I didn't mean to upset you." I feel bad. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't upset me. I'm irritated. I appreciate your apology, I'm just not prepared to talk about that stuff with you. It's not a surface I wish to scrape with you." he says with a soft tone.

"I get it." I assure, taking his hand and squeezing it softly. It's my way of knowing we're okay.

He squeezes my hand back and lifts my hand to press a kiss against my fingers.

"Let's have dinner," he suggests, leaving the prestigious shops behind us as we stride forwards to a gourmet restaurant.

 **A/N – Please Review!**

 **Thank you all for reading and for the feedback. See you next week. Xx. Camilla 'Millie' Rose.**


	9. Chapter 8: Power

**A/N – Here's the next chapter a little early. I don't know when I'll be able to upload next week so here it is. Thank you for reading and for the feedback. Enjoy :) Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx.**

 **POWER**

"Steele, Elizabeth rang in sick. We need someone on the Grey report and you're the only one who knows something about it. Go get the documents signed by him." Carrick barks at me from his office.

There is a phone right beside him, could he at least stretch to pick it up and dial my desk instead of screaming at me from across the room. _God, he's lazy!_ And he seems to be more frustrated than ever these last few days. At least Elizabeth has been the target of his harsh mouth and not me. The Grey report certainly shut him up. She's not in today, so he has no one to shout at. That's why he's probably acting like an ass.

"Okay." I agree with a tight grin; I get to see Christian. And I get to leave the office.

"Make sure all the pages of the contract are signed and delivered back here this afternoon. This article goes to print in the morning." he commands with a jab of his finger.

"I'm on it." I assure him, hastily getting up from my seat.

After Christian and I's romantic date on Wednesday it was pretty hard to refrain from calling and communicating all the time. We text a lot and he calls me in the evenings. I think opening up to him has brought us closer. We're both a lot more understanding. I'm more affectionate, knowing he's got good intentions. And he's laid back, he doesn't force me to do anything I don't want to. When he kisses me his hands stay on my ass or my torso, they never move which I appreciate. I like that he respects the invisible boundary lines. He won't do anything unless I tell him to. He waits for me to be comfortable. I adore that about him; his soft tender side.

I print the documents needed to be signed and the full report and stuff them into a file. I quickly freshen up in the loo before I leave, taking my tights off and leaving my smooth legs looking flawless in my skirt. I've shaved, exfoliated and smoothed them over with moisturizer. And they're looking pretty good after all the TLC. I wonder what Christian will think . . .

The tube ride isn't long to Christian's office. I walk through the double doors of his building with ease, no one stopping me. Maybe because I've been here before? Christian made a pretty big deal about me being here the last time, his staff fawned all over me. Maybe they remember my face? That's why I'm getting through security with no questions asked.

I ride the elevator to his floor and am surprised to see his PA's desk vacant. No one's here. Not ever his security guards. Should I wait? The lights are on in Christian's office. He's probably here and his PA is running an errand for him. Maybe everyone is in his office? I knock softly to no response.

I stop in my tracks as I walk in and find a man who isn't Christian. He's the man Christian ushered me away from. The man Christian doesn't want to talk to me about. _Fuck!_ I shouldn't be here. I can't run. He's looking right at me. It's not like I can turn around and walk out, that'd be too suspicious and odd.

His eyes wander over me, as mine do to him. He's tall and lanky. His bald round head not helping hide his dumbo ears. I'm not sure even if he had hair he'd be able to hide them, they're so big. And the stubble decorating his face makes him look dirty. The bags under his eyes scream about his harsh life. He's stuffed himself into a well polished suit, fitted to his body, and even in immaculate clothing he makes it look soiled.

"Can I help you?" he calls out. He has really bad teeth. Yellow and rotten.

"I'm looking for Mr. Grey." I try and sound confident.

He gives me his full attention. "What do you want with Mr. Grey?" he demands to know.

"I just need Mr. Grey to sign something." I tell him, flicking my eyes away from his beady irises.

"Is it important?" he wonders, looking conniving.

"Not really." I quickly throw him off, tucking the folder under my arm.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, he hasn't arrived yet. Traffic or some shit excuse." he walks confidently around Christian's desk and takes a seat. He's comfortable in here . . . overly comfortable.

"I'll come back later then." I start to shuffle backwards, uncomfortable of the way his harsh analysing eyes look me up and down. I wore a short skirt for Christian, not for this ugly vulgar man.

"No need." his words stop my movements. "Wait here for Christian. He'll be along soon."

"I should leave." I slightly gulp as he rises from the chair. He's showing his hand at supremacy.

"Take a seat." he orders with soft warning.

I look around myself, intimidated by his tone and stance. I slowly do what he says, trying to buy myself time as I drawl out my movements. Why the fuck did I come here unannounced? A moment of impulse has turned into a moment of deep regret. Christian is not going to like it one bit that I'm sat in front of the man he was so quick to usher me away from. And I'm starting to understand why.

The way his eyes pierce me like launched pellets, staring at my crossed legs exactly where my skirt ends just above my knees. He gazes longingly at my bare calfs all the way down to my feet. His eyes hover over my ankles before sweeping up to my torso. I feel my stomach twist sickly when he licks his lips against the view of my v-neck blouse. He ogles my modest chest and examines my collarbones with interest, his eyes almost biting my neck as he takes me in.

I shift uncomfortably against his scrutiny. I keep clearing my throat to make sure I don't vomit. The way he stares with such unlawful intent is beyond disgusting. He's degrading me right before my eyes. Undressing me without permission. I almost can see his imagination running wild and I hate it. He's revolting.

"What's your name?" he asks out of the blue, eyes still fixated on the top button of my blouse that sits just above my breasts.

"Um . . ." I swallow. Christian will kill me if I reveal anything, but he already knows me from last time! Christian said my name. "Ana." I keep it short. Ana could be a variation of so many things.

"Short and sweet." he compliments.

I bite the inside of my cheek to compose my sickened expression.

"What do you do here, Ana?" he wonders.

"Um . . . I – I – I," I stutter, blinking harshly to try and get my thoughts together. "I work in a cubicle. Fax machines." I rush to say. It's all I can think of.

His lips pucker as he nods his head. "Decent enough job." he comments with harsh criticism. He's not impressed by my said career choice in the slightest. "And, what else is it that you do around here?" he perches himself on the edge of Christian's desk.

I try to conceal my gag as he thrusts his hips forward to make his bulge known. I stare at his face, refusing to acknowledge what he wants noticed. He's being overly suggestive.

"Nothing." My voice is breathless with disgust. "Just fax machines." I sound simple. Maybe if he deems me an idiot he'll leave me alone?

"What floor do you work on?" he smirks, seeming too interested.

 _Oh dear god . . ._ he wants to fuck me.

"Third floor." my voice is clipped with distaste.

"Basement . . . nice and _cozy_ down there." he smiles widely, a smile only carried by an evil fucker. I want to slap his face. I want to swipe that smug look from his lips and bite back with severe words, but I know that's the worst thing I could do. He has the look of the devil about him. And I don't wish to step into his hell.

"What are you holding?" he eyes the file in my hands.

"Just something for Mr. Grey to sign." I mumble, looking anywhere but at him.

"A contract?" he looks interested.

"No, Sir. An insurance form." I lie, my eyes falling to the ground so they don't give me away.

His eyes change. "And what would a clerk in a cubicle be reading documents for?"

I gulp hard, my eyes helplessly bugging out of my head. "I just looked at the logo of the insurance company as it came through." I string out my explanation, as fast as possible.

"You shouldn't be reading that, though. Should you?" he becomes authoritative. It's like he's trying to parent me or dominate me in some way. It brings back some harmful memories. I feel like a puppet, my strings being pulled in whichever direction he wishes.

My skin crawls. "No, Sir. I shouldn't be." I agree. It's all I can do; keep him talking until Christian gets here.

"You should be sanctioned for your mistake." his eyes are dark with lust. "Do you know what another word for 'sanction' is?" It's as if he's talking to an incompetent child.

"No, Sir." I shake my head.

"Punishment." he bites the inside of his lip in contemplation. "P-U-N-I-S-H-M-E-N-T." he spells it out. "You need a punishment."

"I'll report to my boss." I volunteer.

"As of now, I am your boss." he stands.

I jump in my seat at his sudden spring to his feet. I stand too, feeling uncomfortable sitting down. Being smaller than someone towering over me has me wanting to fly far away. I feel like running out the door and getting as much distance as possible between he and I, but I fear him coming after me. Getting stuck in an elevator with him is a nightmare come true.

I squeak when the door behind us opens. A harsh entrance that leaves the door banging as it hits the frame. I glance behind myself at Christian. His eyes are wide with surprise, mouth agape at my presence and his head swinging back and forth between his client and myself. In a nanosecond the lightbulb within his head flickers on.

My drained expression tells him everything he needs to know. Words have been said that have upset me. And me being upset, upsets Christian. His eyes dart to the man standing without a care behind his desk, who gazes back at Christian impassively.

"Leave, Ana." Christian says through tight lips.

I drop everything and scuttle out the door. I feel my stomach rolling and I know it's only a matter of time before I hurl.

"Bathroom?" I say in panic to the woman at the front desk.

"Down the hall to the left." she answers automatically. "Ma'am, are you alright?" she calls after me as I rush down the corridor and thrust myself into a bathroom stall.

I just make it to the bowl when I lose control of myself. My stomach empties noisily and I cough and gag repeatedly against the image of his salacious eyes. The way he looked me up and down. All of his suggestive remarks and dominating stances. He's sick. A first class pervert.

"Miss, what's going on in here?" the woman from the front desk stands behind me awkwardly.

Can she not answer that question herself with what's happening before her eyes? God, can she just leave me alone?

I hurl again, choking on my own sick as I clutch the rim of the toilet to keep myself from losing balance in my crouched position. I frown at the commotion happening behind me, the toilet door being slammed open.

"Mr. Grey, you shouldn't be in here." she complains from behind me.

"Olivia, get out of here. Go get a bottle of ice-cold water, a wash cloth and any zesty drink you can find. High sugar would be good." he orders in a calm authoritative tone.

The door opens and closes again, Christian's arms placing themselves on my waist as he supports me. I lean into his hold and groan as he flushes away the contents of my stomach.

"You done?" he ponders.

"I think so." I croak, leaning my elbows on the toilet seat and letting myself fall forward into them.

Olivia comes back with what Christian has asked for and then makes a hasty retreat. I hear Christian rummaging around and a faint trickle of liquid hitting the ground before a wet washcloth is pressed to my forehead.

"Come here, sit back against me." he sits me down on the ground between his legs and lets me fall back against his chest. He holds the washcloth to my forehead and hands me the zesty coca-cola. "Drink, the sugar will bring back some of your energy."

I do as he says and let my stomach settle as I breath deeply in his arms. He holds me tight while washing my face for me.

"I never want to see him again." I feel my stomach roll.

"You won't. He's been dealt with." Christian's voice is rough with anger.

"What do you mean?"

"You won't ever see him again. He'll be _punished_ ,"

I hold my finger up to stop him from talking. That word . . . I rush to the toilet bowl and hurl once more.

"Fuck, you're really sick." he sounds worried.

" _He's_ really sick. A vulgar pervert."

"That's why I never wanted you around him. I told you to stay away." he complains.

"Right now is not the time to scold me." I warn, sitting back on my bent knees. "I need to go home." I conclude, feeling dizzy.

"You do. Taylor's outside. As soon as you're stable enough, we'll go." he decides.

"Just tell me one thing while we're still next to the toilet," I plead for an answer.

"What?"

"Who is he?" I have to ask. It's killing me not to know.

Christian sighs. "He's the head of a gang. We're talking business about another shipment . . . he feels illusive and un-getable, a real ladies man. He's full of himself. He controls prostitutes, leaving him with the feeling that he's a real catch. They flock him for his fucking money and because that's their job. He seems to think it's because of his looks and personality; thinks he can have anyone and everyone."

"I never ever want to see him _ever_ again." I restate.

"You won't. I gave him the warning he so desperately needed. He scampered out of here with his tail between his legs. And I'm not finished with him yet." There's a darkness within Christian's tone.

I gag against his sound. "I'm done talking about this."

"Let's get you home." he suggests, cleaning me up and lifting me to my feet.

I sway a little, having Christian puppet my movements. I compose myself enough to get myself to the sink. I rinse my mouth out, gurgling water to wash away the bitter taste. I clear my face once more before feeling well enough to walk out the bathroom door.

"One step at a time." Christian eases me into the elevator.

I control myself as best I can upon the decent. The stairs would have been a better option, all twenty stories. My stomach wouldn't feel so flippy-floppy. I manage to make it to Taylor in one piece, my stomach holding out the whole ride home. I distract myself by the radio, listening to other peoples words than the ones that recount themselves in my brain.

"He freaked me out." I admit when I walk through my front door.

"Was it his words or him?" Christian wonders, it's as if he doesn't want to ask because he doesn't want to make me ill but he's desperate to have some answers.

"He looked me over a little too invasively." I put it lightly. "I felt like a piece of meat . . . and he started talking about the P word." I cough out a gag.

"P word?" Christian's eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"The word you said that made me puke. The moment I held my finger up to stop you from talking." I remind him.

"Pun-" he starts to say.

"Shut up." I groan. "Stop."

"Sorry." he looks guilty. "That will never be a possibility, Ana. Ever." he promises.

"I know. It just made me sick. The way he treated me." I fold my arms as I flop down on the couch, kicking my shoes off and curling into a ball. "Especially when I dressed for you. I'm yours."

A look of territorial pride hits his eyes. "And I love the way you're dressed." he compliments, soft eyes looking at mine before flattering my body with a sweet calm gaze before looking back at my face. "He's a pig. A fucking bombast. There are no amount of disgusting words to describe him. He's gone. Finished with. Don't let him rule your thoughts, Anastasia. Forget him. It won't happen ever again. I'll make sure of it." he sits beside me, holding my hands in his.

"I believe you." I lean into him for a hug. His hugs are the best. Tight and present. I feel safe in his arms.

"Why don't you go have a bath and clean yourself up? I'll make you some tea and you can rest." He suggests.

"Sounds good." I agree, watching him walk away.

I frown when noticing his slight limp is overly prominent today. He's always had a slight hiccup whilst he walks, not completely fluid as if he has a modest problem with his leg. It's not noticeable to anyone unless you really examine Christian as intently as I do, and since we've met, I've gotten used to it.

I hadn't noticed it earlier but he's limping harshly, placing all his weight on his good leg and hardly allowing the foot of his bad leg to press against the ground. That guy back at the office didn't belt him, did he? My eyes widen.

"You're limping." I comment from where I stand, scanning his leg as he moves around.

"Yes." Christian agrees, looking nonchalant as he throws a tea bag into a mug.

"Did you injure yourself?" I decide to play it cool, I don't want to bombard him or make accusations. I know he doesn't like it when I do that.

"No. My hip locks sometimes. It gives out and gets sore if I overdo it in the gym or my activity levels are too intense. That's why I was late getting to work. I got stuck in traffic after visiting the physiotherapist." he tells me.

"What's wrong with your hip?" I blurt, biting my tongue as I wait for him to answer.

He goes quiet for a moment, his head cocked to the side in thought. "Just an accident that happened when I was younger." he answers vaguely with a shrug.

I nod to myself. _Need to know . . . he'll tell you one day,_ my subconscious chimes.

"I'm going to head to the tub." I say, watching his shoulders fall from their tensed position at my words.

 _What is he not telling me?_

After scrubbing my teeth clean, I fill the bath with a slight smile. Christian can be so sweet sometimes. He's very caring. A quality I adore about him. He's proving to be a compassionate human being, despite everything that goes on within his life. He's beyond decent.

I let myself soak in the fragrant water, feeling much better than before. The hot water heats my skin and washes away every bit of disgust I feel. I wrap myself in my fluffy robe and tie my hair into a messy bun. Christian seems pleasantly surprised by my appearance when I exit the bathroom. It is his first time seeing me without makeup and my hair in a mess. But, my head is too full of other thoughts to care. I can't focus on how I look, at least I'm clean and decent.

"Here's your tea." he says from where he lounges on my bed. He's watching some gameshow on the TV.

"Thanks." I cuddle under the duvet and sink back against the pillows. "I'm tired." I whisper out.

"Sleep. I'll stay if you don't mind? I'll work quietly from my iPad." he tells me.

"That's fine." I feel good about it but a little weird. Sleeping next to him. I haven't been unconscious around him. We've never slept together.

"You're sure you don't want to kick me out?" he asks. "I'll understand." he offers.

"I'm good with it, Christian. You can stay. Just don't make any moves." I warn with a raised eyebrow.

He rolls his eyes at me, "I won't."

"Then we're all good." I laze back, sipping my tea. "You make a good cuppa." I compliment, my hands being warmed by the mug.

"Thanks. I drink tea all the time. At least twelve cups a day." he mutters.

"Twelve a day?" I'm surprised. "That's a lot."

"I'm English." he shrugs.

"Mmmm . . ." I agree, drinking up.

"What is it that you came to my office for?" he asks, glancing over at me.

I meet his eyes. "I need you to sign the contract for the article, so we can publish it and mark it as real quotes from your mouth. Not just 'source' pieces of information." I inform him.

"You couldn't fax it over to my office?" he looks confused.

I blush crimson. "I wore a short skirt for a reason." My body is flaming hot.

"You wanted to tease me?"

"Mmm-hmmm," I'm too embarrassed to form any words.

"I'm flattered." he smiles. A wide toothy grin.

"I took my tights off before I left my office." I add.

He chuckles to himself. "Fucking traffic," he complains.

I laugh for the first time all day. "You would have got there early if you'd have known?"

"I sure would have." he cocks an eyebrow. "You're delicious, Ana." he hums. "Well, at least you look that way."

I feel my pulse racing. A sudden kick to my abdomen overtaking my feelings. The pleasure I feel against his words overwhelm me. "Why don't you taste me then?" I talk dirty, biting my lip as I spread my legs under the covers.

The satisfaction of seeing Christian's eyes pop wide from his head has a pool of wet leaking from my core. I suddenly feel wide awake and overly aroused. I want him, badly.

 **A/N – Please Review!**

 **Thank you all for reading and for the feedback. See you next week. Xx. Camilla 'Millie' Rose.**


	10. Chapter 9: Pleasure

**A/N – Apologies this is late! Thank you for reading and for the feedback. Enjoy :) Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx.**

 **PLEASURE**

"Are you sure about this?" Christian looks up at me from between my legs.

"Yes," I'm breathless, my chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Ana," he eyes me.

I know he doesn't want me to regret anything and I won't.

"I trust you." I stroke his cheek. "Please, Christian." I whisper, my nail softly scraping the line of his jaw as it travels to the corner of his mouth. I caress his lips softly with the pad of my thumb. "I trust you." I look straight into his eyes.

I smile when he kisses the inside of my thigh repeatedly, moaning when he nips the tender flesh. I bite my lip to keep myself contained . . . it's been so long.

He spreads my knees wide, opening my legs widely and exposing my dripping wet body to him. He smiles at the sight of me. His lips tease my inner thighs, teeth softly scraping along the flesh from my knee to the apex of my thigh before being pulled back just as I think he's going to kiss me where I want it the most. I whimper in frustration, his big hands holding down my bucking hips as I start to wither in need.

"Please," I beg, breathlessly.

"All in good time, Ana." he chimes with a smile as his tongue traces aimless patterns around my thighs.

I pulse with need, an overwhelming feeling of lust and pleasure thumping at my core. My head is thrown back against the pillows as I feel his thumb inching closer to my heat. I gasp as he flicks it over my entrance and spreads my wetness all around, massaging my clit with rhythmic circles.

"Christian." I bite my lip as he pushes a finger inside.

I watch as his head slowly dips, gasping when his tongue makes contact with me. He simply licks me, tasting my core. He starts off slow, teasing me by running his tongue along the outer corners and finally finding my clit. I whimper in protest when he pulls his lips away from me. Teasing me.

He pumps his index finger in and out, my hips buckling under the restraint of his arms as his lips latch onto me. I moan as his tongue swirls around my sensitive core, spreading my wet pleasure all around and softly sucking me as he tastes me for the first time. My hands find his hair and knot themselves in his locks as he slides a second finger in me. I tug the hair at the nape of his neck, whimpering loud as the kicks of pleasure get more intense, his tongue devouring me.

"Christian," I warn, feeling my walls clenching as I come undone. I moan as I crash down on his fingers and come hard against his working tongue.

He crawls back up my withering body, on all fours, and looks down at me. His eyes are soft, watching my body come down from my high. My chest rises and falls rapidly as my thighs squeeze together and release as the shock waves clench and subside.

"How was that?" he asks with lips that are shining with my pleasure. _Oh my . . ._

"Amazing." I'm breathless.

"You're a sight to see, Anastasia." he smiles as he leans down and presses a kiss to the nipple of my breast while pressing his hard bulge against my stomach.

I moan against his actions, "Christian," I whimper.

"You want more?" his eyes scan mine.

I bite my lip, "Yes . . . but," I blush.

He smiles in knowing. "We don't have to go the whole way." he whispers delicately into my ear and then kisses my flaming hot cheeks.

"I want to." I speak the truth. "There's just no commitment between us. I don't do the casual sex thing." I admit, hoping it won't be a dampener on his fire. Telling a man you're not going to give him sex easily can sometimes be a turn-off. And half the time they take note of the fact and walk away. "And . . . I'm not on birth control. The last thing I want to do right now is get pregnant." I gulp at the thought.

He kisses my forehead. "You don't need to explain yourself or justify anything."

"I don't want you to think I don't want you." I pout.

He pecks my lips, "I know you want me. You're pouring wet for me between your legs."

"You turn me on." I blush crimson. My whole body heating under his eyes.

"Ditto." he presses into me again.

I giggle, clamping down on my bottom lip as I let my hand wander. "Why don't you take a turn at lying down?" I offer.

"You sure?" he mumbles while we switch positions.

I straddle his hips and place my hands on his chest. "Yes. I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable." I promise. "I'm not going to hurt you, right? You're hip isn't too sore, is it?" I'm concerned. I don't want this first time to go down as an embarrassing story. The thought of making too harsh of a movement and paining him so much we have to stop is something I don't think I could live down.

"You won't hurt me. Between the pain medication and the way I'm lying, I'm good." he strokes my cheek.

"Tell me, though. I want to know if you get sore." I softly rub his hip.

"I'll tell you." he rests back comfortably as I make a move on his chest.

My lips place kisses all over, delicately sucking on different patches of flesh under his collarbones. I suck and softly nip at his nipples, swirling my tongue around the rough hard flesh of his muscles. I kiss his sternum and start going lower, my nails scraping up and down his torso in aimless patterns. I grin in satisfaction as goosebumps break out across his flesh and he grinds into me.

"Can you just wait for one second?" he asks, catching my arms as I start to travel south.

My eyebrows knit together in confusion. He's stopping me . . .

I look at him expectantly, waiting for an answer that'll explain his hesitations.

"Something you said earlier is bothering me." he confesses.

"What did I say?" I don't think I said anything that could upset him.

"You told me that we don't have any commitment between us," he starts.

"We don't."

"Well, do you want that to change? I already think of you as mine. I'm sure you can tell I'm already pretty territorial, anyone within a foot of you that has an interest I'm chasing them away." he speaks fast, and I'm starting to realize he's nervous.

Maybe he thinks I'll reject him? Will I? Can I do this? His work, the dirty business, can I be with somebody that does that? Even when I know his past will most likely redeem him, I have a gut feeling it will. I can see he's anchored by something. Stuck in a difficult situation that he can't let go of.

"Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?" I mumble out in awe. He wants _me_.

"Yes."

"And all of the other women, even those around you who work for you, are in the past?" I check. Elena comes to mind. I don't want him around her. Not when she flirts and latches onto him in such a suggestive way.

"Anastasia, there's only you. Elena is the only person in my present life that I have history with, and that's exactly what it is; history. She works around me, not with me. I'm going to have to see her from time to time, I won't lie to you. But, I'm not interested in anyone else but you. She's not someone I find attractive at all." He says, sitting up so that we're face to face.

"You got with her, Christian. How can you not be attracted?"

He strokes my cheek. "She's older, Ana. Call it experimenting, if you will."

"You wanted to know what getting with an older woman was like?" My eyes go wide. He's a little kinky.

Christian shrugs. "It was nothing really. And not that good, either."

"Humor me, why was't it good?" I ask, more to understand what not to do when we eventually do it.

"You really want to know?" his eyes are wide.

"Yes."

"Most women would be smacking the ass of their man for even speaking about another woman. And you're wanting to listen to me talk about sex with another woman?" his eyebrows raise.

"You're the one in my bed right now. I trust your words when you say she's history. And, you can save the graphic details. I just want to understand why someone like her doesn't edge up to the plate." I stroke my hand through his hair.

Christian sighs. "I won't get in trouble for speaking about her?"

I laugh lightly. "No. I won't be upset with you, not unless you go and see her again."

"That'll never happen."

"Then tell me," I urge.

"She's fake for one. Her boobs were harsh and unnatural and stiff. It was uncomfortable, more an obstacle in the way that I had no hope in hell of getting around. And she did all this porno shit, fake moans, fake responses, fake facial expressions that were forced and over exaggerated." his face turns to disgust as he thinks about it.

"You like natural." I conclude.

"Yes." he smiles. "That's why I'm so drawn to you. I find you so sexy. You're responses are real. It's arousing."

"How so?" I start kissing his neck, my hands in his hair as I softly tug against the roots.

"Mm." he moans. "The way you cross your ankles and press your thighs together when you're horny. How you bite your lip when I tease you. " he lists, "Anastasia," he whimpers as I start traveling south.

"Christian," I look back up at him from under my eyelashes.

My fingers delicately dance between his hipbones, drawing patterns back and forth and occasionally slipping under the band of his suit pants. I bite my lip in want as I watch the large bulge straining against the material that keeps it captive. I unhook his belt and pull it so harshly from his hips that it whips the air. Christian grunts and grimaces slightly.

"Shit," _his sore hip_. "Sorry." I lean up and stroke his cheek, looking in his eyes.

"That was really sexy." he admits with heat behind his eyes.

"Are you hurt?" I blush against his comment.

"The complete opposite." he assures with a grin, "Just a little tender." he shrugs.

I press my lips against his, "I'll be careful." I promise, going lower again.

I run my hand over the material of his boxers, cupping the bulge and delicately squeezing him in my hand. I rub his long thick shaft, getting to know his shape before peeling his boxers from around him. My eyes go a little wide at the sight of him. He's bigger than what I've had. Sexier.

I scrape my fingernails across the inside of his hairy thigh, circling up and down as my tongue trails the delicate flesh between his hipbones. I watch in satisfaction as his cock throbs against my teasing movements, Christian's hands gripping the pillow on either side of his head.

I move my index finger up over his hipbone and trace it down to his inner groin, letting my nail leave a sweet bite behind itself as I move past his cock; teasing.

"Ana," he moans.

"Mm." I respond, humming back.

I smile as I brush my hand over his shaft, barely touching him, as his cock eagerly bobs and follows my sweet torture and begs for my hand to hold him firmly.

"Well, well, well," I giggle delicately in delight. "Look who has control of you." I whisper into his ear, tracing the shell with my tongue and harshly nipping the lobe.

"Ah," Christian cries. "Fuck." he mutters under his breath.

"Tell me what you want, Mr. Grey." I demand, our eyes locking together.

"Take me in your mouth, Anastasia." he orders.

I bite my lip against his words to fight against the moan building in my throat. My pussy clenches at his words, throbbing for any kind of friction, but I refrain from that as I start lowering my head against his body.

I softly run my tongue up the underside of his cock and stop when getting to the tip, I pull back a little, letting him free as I scrape my nail up his shaft again. I smile as he sways unprompted against my movements, guttural moans sounding out from christian. They sound so full of need and urgency.

I take him into my hands, firmly, circling my thumb and forefinger and capturing him in the hole I create. I twist my hand back and forth as I pump his shaft, my tongue flicking the tip of his dick and swirling every time my hand connects with the top of him.

"Fuck, Ana." he roars.

I suck harder, pull him harshly into my mouth before releasing him out and then repeating my movements over and over again, pumping him.

"Ana," he warns, a pleasure building in the base of his throat.

I smile against the urgency in his voice, his core shaking with the climax threatening to shatter within him. Swirling my wet sloppy tongue over his is his undoing, his creamy cum hitting the back of my throat.

I hum, he tastes good.

I sit up and wipe the corners of my mouth, squealing in delight as he flips us and pins me to the mattress.

"Anastasia, you will ruin me." his voice is full of desire and want.

I giggle against him and moan as he kisses my neck, nipping and suckling my sweet spot.

"Where did you learn to do that?" he questions, he places his hand over my mouth. "Never mind, don't answer that." he growls when I try to say something.

"I was going to respond with; instinct. I follow how your body reacts to me." I eye him.

He kisses my lips softly as he rolls on top of me and snuggles into my arms.

We lay in the dark, comfortable in each others arms after showering each other with loving affection. My heart thrums against my chest, beating so loud I can hear it against my ears. My hands are aimlessly drawing patters against the soft skin of Christian's back, his purrs pleasuring my ears.

I kiss his forehead, smiling shyly at him as I nuzzle my face into his warm neck and kiss him over his jugular. I feel his hip jerk again, a slight involuntary movement that bounces us softly.

"I don't want to nag you about anything. And I understand if you don't want to tell me everything about your past and the dark side of your business. I get it, it's going to take time for you to share all of that with me. But, I do have one question that I really would like for you to answer." I stroke his cheek adoringly, keeping his eyes to mine as I speak.

"What's the question?" he stares at me in the dark.

I run my hand through his hair. "What happened to your leg?"

His eyes search mine, slightly wide and hesitant. "You want to know?"

"Very much so." I hold him to me. I stroke the nape of his neck, "Only if you want to tell me." I assure.

"I lied before. It wasn't an accident." he offers.

"I know."

He sighs. "If I tell you, you won't ask me any further questions? You'll bite your tongue?"

"I won't ask questions." I promise.

His eyes flicker away from mine and I'm surprised when he suddenly cuddles into me, holding me tight as he lays his head on my bare chest, his lips at my neck as his arms wrap around me. He's snuggling into me, not wanting to look me in the eyes.

"My parents weren't exactly _great_." his tone is stiff. "Probably the worst parents any child could have. They both had their . . . problems. Both incredibly inept when it came to parenting. They didn't know how to lead or love, let alone raise a child. Every touch I knew for the first eight years of my life was harsh. No affection, just a slap across the face, a rough shove against a wall, or, a blow to the legs." he says, my arms tight around his as he speaks.

"I was born an addict. My mother was addicted to narcotics and used throughout her pregnancy, which caused me nerve damage in my right leg, my hip being part of the problem. I got a lot of therapy during my teen years which has helped. But, when I was younger I used to have to walk with a leg support. It was the only way I could get around. The nerve damage was bad and sometimes still is, very painful. The abuse they showed me didn't help.

"Anytime they wanted me to stop playing like a normal child, anytime they wanted to get high, or, leave the house, they'd just take off the leg support and wallop me straight where the doctors marked my weakest point. The kick would hit against the nerves and I'd be left rolling around in pain. Unable to walk." he sighs. "I got taken off my father at the age of eight after a doctor noticed the abuse. That's how I ended up in foster care that lead me to private school." he shrugs, his chin resting on my chest as he looks up to see my reaction.

"Don't cry for me, Ana." he whispers, his thumb clearing the tears that fall from my cheeks.

"That's awful, Christian." I cry. "Oh, Christian. You poor boy." I hug him tight.

"Ana, it's long over."

"It should never have happened." I whimper, stroking his cheek so tenderly.

From one abused person to another, I know exactly how that must have felt. I just can't imagine it happening to me as a child, let alone it being one of my parents. I don't think I'd ever be able to look at my mother the same if she hit me.

"No, it shouldn't have. But, it did. And it's over. I've moved on." he promises.

"Your still in pain, though. Physically." I frown.

"As are you, Anastasia. Emotionally." he retorts. "And just like you, I don't let it define me. It's apart of me, but I never let it consume me. We both deal with our past everyday. Not that we think about the past or the people in it, but just like the way you subconsciously look over your shoulder when you walk or are ultra-sensitive to who's around you, is exactly the same as my leg involuntarily twitching or the nerves getting sore and needing treatment. We deal with it and we don't let it drag us down." he kisses my scar, his lips tracing it's shape before pressing down at it's center.

I pull his face back to mine, dominating his lips.

 **A/N – Please Review!**

 **Thank you all for reading and for the feedback. See you next week. Xx. Camilla 'Millie' Rose.**


	11. Chapter 10: Dr Flynn

**A/N – Apologies for not posting this earlier, my schedule is crazy at the moment! Thank you for reading and for the feedback. Enjoy :) Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx.**

 **DR. FLYNN**

The last two weeks had flown by. Christian and I had spent a lot of time together; evening dinners at each others houses, evening strolls through the busy London neighborhoods, a date at an art gallery, Sundays spent at the street markets. It had been wonderful to get to know him better and more-so that he had been pretty open with our relationship. I was being introduced as his 'girlfriend' rather than just 'Ana'. Although, he did keep tight lipped around a collection of people and I presume that had to do with wrong-side business.

I liked that he was opening himself up a little more. Inviting me to his home was a treat. He lives in the prestigious Kensington area. With such an established man like him I expected him to live in a big mansion, but he resided in a modest townhouse. It was big but not overly so. It had everything a man could need, but was more fitted to a single persons needs.

I was a little intimidated by his staff members; Mrs. Jones being his live-in housekeeper and chef, while Taylor was his bodyguard. The both of them lived in Christian's basement, a nice apartment on the ground floor that was bigger than where I lived.

Over the last two weeks Christian and I hadn't really moved forward in the bedroom department. We are enjoying each others bodies and adoring each other as a couple should. We're both determined not to rush things. And I appreciate him for that. He's proving himself to me. He's proving that he's not like the darkness that is my past.

"Somethings been bothering me, Christian." I say as we stroll down the street. It's mid-morning on a Saturday and it's surprisingly nice out. The sun is shining despite the icy temperatures.

"What has?" he wonders while sticking the daily newspaper under his arm and clasping my hand in his.

"Do you care about the impact you have over people's lives by doing what you do?" I question, my voice burning with curiosity.

"I don't see it that way." he disagrees with frustration strangled in his tone.

"How do you see it?"

"I've told you – a transport service. That's it. It's like a baker would his bread; it goes from the factory to the store shelves and people buy it on their own conscience." he tells me with a definite tone.

"This type of work you do has never bothered you?" I wonder, squeezing his hand so that he slows down a little. He's power-walking, almost like he's physically running from the subject and mentally unable to.

"There was a time it got to me, yeah." he agrees, being honest.

"And what did you do?" I look up at his hooded eyes, they're moody.

"We really have to talk about this now?" he frowns, irritated.

I groan, "Yes. We do." I fight. I'm not letting him continue to runaway from conversations I try and have with him. I understand if he doesn't want to answer but for him not to acknowledge things like I need him to is bothering me. It's like and itch under my skin. "With the NDA I'm left with no one to talk too. It's a little isolating." I admit.

"You can talk to me." he offers.

I roll my eyes. "That's not the same, Christian. You withhold information and although honest, never give me a full answer. I have a lot of questions . . . ones that can't be answered by you." I try and say as politely as I can. I don't want to upset him. He'll shell up and we'll get nowhere on the subject.

"Can you, at least, tell me what you want to talk about?" his eyes search my features as we stop on the street corner.

I shrug, "Just about conflicting topics."

"Such as?"

"There's you as a man. And then, there's you as a _businessman_. I'm confused by my emotions. I'm confused by your work. I need to talk to someone to straighten my thoughts out." I tell him, biting my lip as I look away.

He softly hooks his thumb under my chin and guides my eyes to his. "I don't think I'd be comfortable with you talking to any of your friends, or, people who aren't in the knowhow."

"So, I can't talk to anyone?" I frown. The disappointment can be heard pouncing from my tongue.

"You can." he assures.

"Who?"

"I have someone who works for me. He's a therapist. He knows about everything, which will make him understanding. He knows me, too. And he won't tell anyone anything."

"You want me to see a shrink?" I frown slightly.

"Don't look at it that way," he frowns again. "He's someone you can offload to without having the worry of them blabbing off to everyone they know. It's confidential. It's between us."

"If it's my only option," I sigh. "Why not?" I shrug in agreement.

"Great. I'll make the appointment with Dr. Flynn for this afternoon." Christian's all business, back to being the in-control CEO.

"Will you get a time slot on such short notice?" I worry.

Christian rolls his eyes at me with his phone pressed to his ear. I should've known better. He has his persuasive ways.

* * *

Dr. Flynn was the opposite of who I expected to see. I imagined a very polished man with glasses and a serious face, but was greeted by a disheveled gentleman with a weak handshake. He was very lined and heavily wrinkled in every way. His white shirt was crumpled and so old it could pass for being vintage. _Maybe that's his style?_ But by the look of his shoes – the rubber soles worn in with scuffs of mud decorating each heel – I knew he was just an unkept and dirty individual. The deep creases within his cheeks and the crow's feet surrounding his eyes painted the image of a stressful life. His thin balding silver hair only added to the picture.

His bone structure dominated his face. Pointed nose. Severe jawline. Thick eyebrows. Big forehead. It all mixed within the square shape of his head, coming together to portray an unattractive man – in my opinion.

I glance around the room discreetly, eyeing his framed diplomas, personal photographs and dull artwork. I itch to fix his desk, the stack of papers mashed into an unorganized pile is simply irritating. I can't understand how he works in such a disorganized environment. It'd drive me crazy. How does he ever find anything with pages upon pages of paper cluttering his desk? I wouldn't be surprised if he mixed patients files up . . . how dangerous that could be!

Although being in complete disarray and being aged severely within his complexion, his deep dimpled smile gave a sense of warmth to his look. I felt at ease while resting back in the spacious armchair in front of his desk. I was a little nervous to be talking with him alone, but his smile reassured me that I was within a safe environment to offload my busy mind.

"If it's alright, let's start with a few simple questions." he starts, holding a pen to his paper. "Your full name?"

"Anastasia Rose Steele." I answer.

"And you know Christian Grey?"

"Yes." I answer, again. _That's why I'm here . . ._

"How did you two meet?" he wonders, scribbling on his notepad.

"Through my work. I was set to interview him and met him at a gala one night. We got talking." I explain.

"You didn't follow him?" he cocks an eyebrow.

I look at him, shocked.

"Christian's already told me everything. I'm just seeing if your stories match." he says with a slightly dimpled grin.

"If you know everything then why don't we cut to the chase?" I feel my skin crawl. I shouldn't have to repeat myself for someone else's amusement. _And what the hell has Christian been telling him?_

Dr. Flynn rests back in his chair with assessing eyes. At least he knows I'm not here to talk shit. I'm no ditzy-daisy who's got a minuscule problem or an overdramatic mind that creates anxiety.

"You found out what Christian really does?" he questions, placing his pen on his desk.

I nod in agreement, playing with my fingers in my lap.

"That must have been a shock." he probes.

I shrug. "It was my fault . . . I followed him when he told me not to and discovered the factory."

"Still must have been shocking." he settles his clasped hands on his rounded stomach. "His image was ruined by what you saw. You thought he was a well polished business man, good looks, great lifestyle, and then you discover he's not what he's made out to be. You must have been really unsettled by it all?"

"It is unsettling." I agree. "I was never after him, though. I appreciate his handsomeness, what woman wouldn't, but beauty is deceptive of character. I look at _who_ he is rather than what he has. He is a lovely man, with great principles within his personal life. It's just his work that conflicts everything. What he's apart of is so _ugly_." I frown deeply. "He says he just runs the place like a normal factory. That it's a transport business more than anything else . . . but what he transports is illegal and constructed under the impression of a legitimate business."

"What's troubling you, Anastasia?" Dr. Flynn looks sympathetic to my feelings.

"The impact of what he's doing, how it affects other people." I explain.

"How do you feel it affects other people?" he wonders with intent eyes. He's interested in what I'm saying.

"Well, he provides the streets with contraband. In which, it has people addicted, it harms people and their families. People die because of drugs. And he provides it. It gets run through his factory doors. He lets it happen." I feel my stomach twist sickly. "He hasn't opened up to me, I hope whatever it is he has yet to tell me will redeem him in some way. I don't know where I'll be if it doesn't." I feel tears prickle in my eyes. I blink rapidly to wash them away.

"Do you view him as evil?"

"No! But I don't see him as an angel either."

"He moves cargo, Anastasia. He doesn't play the game or pressure people into taking anything. He's set up a sort of trade deal. He doesn't play in the hands of criminals and gangsters . . ."

"But he keeps the wheel spinning for them," I cut him off. "Without Christian these people wouldn't be able to sell this to anyone or feed the addictions that make people go homeless or even worse, end peoples lives. I can't get around that. How he doesn't see how messed up it is and not care enough to stop what he's doing."

"He does see it as messed up. Believe me, I should know! But if not him, then who? If Christian didn't do this, I can tell you, for a matter of fact, someone else would be right their in his position. Christian has control over it. He moves the stock peacefully. He doesn't get involved in the mess it brings and he makes sure the good people stay well away from the dangers of criminal gangs and bad areas around this city. That's why he has the private members club. In a strange way it keeps the peace. The hierarchy where they're supposed to be and the lower gobs fighting in the trenches."

"Dr. Flynn, why does it feel as if you're protecting him?"

The way his chin drops, almost in shame, gives me the answer.

"You're a customer!" I conclude with a surprised tone as he composes himself.

 _Great!_ Is there anyone's opinion I can get from the outside world. The world oblivious to this one.

"I'm not proud of it, but it helps me. I got really down after the recession hit, I lost a lot of business and money and the drugs were the one thing that helped to cure my ailments. Made me feel less of a failure. It's controlled and recreational, nothing more."

"You don't need to explain yourself to me."

"I know. I'm just trying to get you to understand how the other shoe fits. Your seeing this from only your point of view, which I respect very much, but until you listen to people's stories and understand their pain and see how drugs can be benefited from, you mustn't judge."

I simply nod, having no response to his words.

What Dr. Flynn has said doesn't change my opinion of all of this being wrong. It's still a horrible thing that Christian is doing, and knowing what he's capable of is scary. He holds a lot more power than Dr. Flynn is willing to admit. The other day when that guy stood in front of me in Christian's office, trying to intimidate me, and how he got dealt with is only a smidgen of what he's capable of. I'm not blind to see that. And Dr. Flynn seems to think I am.

Walking out of Dr. Flynn's office, I had hoped to feel better than when I had arrived. I had hoped to feel the weight being lifted off of my shoulders, if anything, I felt permanently anchored in place now that I've talked to him. He seems to have a negative effect on Christian, he makes Christian think what he's doing is acceptable. And he does it for his own benefit, which is even more sickening.

"How'd it go with dr. Flynn?" Is the first thing out of Christian's mouth when I step through his front door, Taylor following behind me and disappearing to his downstairs office.

I shrug off my jacket and step out of my shoes. I walk into the kitchen and grab a glass from the cupboard and pour some white wine. Christian's eyes watch me intently as I move around, his gaze burning a hole in my temple.

"Anastasia?" he probes as I take a seat on the couch opposite him, the distance removing me from being under his spell.

Just by looking at him I see the severe anxiety brewing within him. His shoulders are high and tense, his expression pinched and demeanor hard. Almost like armor. He's bracing himself for what I have to say.

"It was fine." I answer.

"Fine?" he tests the word, rolling it along his tongue. Not seeming satisfied.

"Yeah . . . not really what I expected it to be."

"What do you mean?" his eyebrows crease together in confusion.

"He was nice, inoffensive. But, he's disheveled. Lacking a professional edge. And he's a drug user." I sip my drink.

"He told you that?" Christian's jaw drops in disbelief.

"It's not hard to see, Christian." I mumble in frustration. "The man can hardly look after himself correctly. Self-grooming is a basic in life, and he is so unkept. Ruffled shirt, bad skin, bad teeth, dirty shoes." I list, too tired to continue.

"What did you talk about?"

I run a hand through my hair, yawning. "Lots of stuff. About you. Your business. About me and how I feel about it." I shrug.

"You're not giving me much detail." he bites his inner cheek, seeming distressed.

"We've already talked about all of it. I only went to get some insight and it wasn't that helpful since he's a customer of your work."

"Not my customer." he growls.

"Okay, okay." I sigh in exasperation. "A customer of some hooligan who benefits from your work."

"I want to know, Anastasia. Sitting here all evening has been difficult. I need some details." his tone is cooler and burning with interest.

I decide to feed the hungry beast within his mind. "Despite his appearance," I start. And with that we talk about my whole evening. I recount from start to finish the therapy session I have just had, making it clear to Christian why I feel it didn't help.

"He masks what you do as being acceptable. He enables your work and your feelings towards it." I sigh. "Believe me, Christian. You wouldn't be seeking his help if it didn't bother you. What you do makes you uncomfortable, I see that so clearly. You have to admit that to yourself."

"I'm not uncomfortable with it." he defends with a harsh tone, eyes blazing.

It's understandable to me that he isn't liking what he is hearing. He doesn't like that I challenge him and Dr. Flynn. He's so used to Flynn coming up with some sideline to everything he does, explaining that what he does is okay. When in reality it's not. I just want the confirmation from Christian that he knows what he is doing is wrong. That he takes responsibility for the impact he has over peoples lives.

If he owns that reality and stares it in the face, I'll be a much happier and much more comfortable person in this relationship. At least then, I'll know he can be real and honest about things. That he's not living in a fantasy world within his head and tapping in and out of it whenever he wants.

It looks as if the subject will be dropped for now as Christian sits in the armchair beside the fire and sulks petulantly. I don't want to drive him over the edge. And having an argument tonight is not what I'm in the mood for. I hate fighting with him, and I am not going to put myself in the firing line just yet.

"How was your evening?" I wonder, changing the subject. No doubt we'll talk about it at a later date.

"Boring. I sat here and read the newspapers." he answers, looking like the hot CEO he is in a blue shirt and black fitted slacks. He looks delicious. I bite my lip when feeling the stirrings ignite deep in my abdomen. My therapy session is long forgotten as my mind moves to dirtier thoughts.

"Would you like your evening to be more interesting?" I question with a smirk, placing my wine glass on the table beside me and slowly moving to the top button of my blouse. My movements are exaggerated, teasing Christian.

I smile in satisfaction when his mouth twists, his teeth biting the inside of his cheek when my blouse is discarded and my perky breasts bounce in greeting. My skirt is the next to go, revealing my thigh high stockings and garter belt that match my black lace thong. I stand and move slowly towards him. I push his shoulders back and pin him against the armchair as I straddle his lap. His hands fly up to catch my bum and I slap them away.

"Be a gentleman, Mr. Grey." I scold playfully, rubbing the top button of his shirt with my index finger.

"Anastasia, a gentleman is the last thing I can be when you're looking like this." he growls and nuzzles his face into my breasts.

I gasp in pleasure as his mouth finds my nipple, his tongue swirling around, as his hand cups my other breast and pinches the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"Mm," I let out incoherently. "Mr. Grey." I run my hand through his soft hair, tugging it at the back and pulling his head away from my chest. "You're too overdressed." I whisper against his lips, our faces not an inch apart.

He moves in to kiss me but I keep my lips centimeters from his, our mouths dancing around each other. I move my hands back to his shirt and start undoing the buttons, getting lazy halfway and ripping it open, having the buttons flying everywhere.

His mouth crashes to mine, his hands wrapping around me. He pulls me close to him, grinding our bodies together so deliciously. I moan in pleasure, needing more. I wrestle his belt off him, undoing his pants in lightening speed and freeing his cock that springs happily from its place.

I run my hands delicately up and down him, starting off soft, only lightly touching him before tightening my hand and firmly pumping up and down in slick rhythm. Christian hums in pleasure, our tongues still fighting with each other and his hands work on removing the rest of my outfit.

He makes pieces of the thong, ripping it from around my pussy and throwing it across the room. A pang of pleasure hits at his actions, my wetness dripping all over him.

"Christian," I gasp a breathy moan.

I squeak as he lifts us from the armchair, unable to take my torture any longer. I giggle as he pushes me down on the couch, my back flat against the cushions, as he keeps my legs tightly together. I bite my lip when looking at him, seeing him lick his lips before burying his face in my wetness. I scream out in delight, my mouth agape as he destroys whats his, taking me with a fast slick pace.

"Christian." I warn, knowing it's only moments until I cum against him.

"Come on, Ana." he thrusts a second finger into me. "Give it to me, baby."

And I do. I cry out as my body squeezes around him.

"This is going to be a fun night." I tease as I flip him so that he's on his back.

Christian laughs, watching me as I travel south.

 _A good night, indeed!_

 **A/N – Please Review!**

 **Thank you all for reading and for the feedback. I love hearing your opinions, they give me ideas. See you next week. Xx. Camilla 'Millie' Rose.**


	12. Chapter 11: Hierarchy

**A/N – Who's going to the movies to watch Fifty Shades Darker? I can't wait! Apologies this is so late; I've been busy and it took me ages to write. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. See you next week. Xx Camilla 'Millie' Rose.**

 **HIERARCHY**

I wake up with a smile on my face next to a whining Christian who cusses under his breath against the sound of the morning alarm. He whacks it harshly with his hand, effectively bashing it off the bedside table.

"Are you okay, Christian?" I wonder, snuggling into his side as I peek up at him.

He buries his head further into his pillow. "I'm fine."

"Fine?" I challenge.

He rolls his head to look me in the eyes. He glares at me. "Yes, fine." he cuts me with his words.

"Ouch, alright then." I tease, resting my hand on his chest.

"I'm not a morning person." he groans.

"I'm gathering that." I roll my eyes. "Do you need a coffee to brighten your day?"

"Yes. Black coffee with two shots of caramel creamer." he hums at the thought, closing his eyes once more.

"It's on its way." I kiss his chest and start getting up.

He pulls me back down on the bed and curls around my body like a vine. "I can just call Mrs. Jones." he informs me, stabbing a dial on the phone. "Do you want anything?"

"No." I answer. I just woke up, it's too early.

"The usual, Mr. Grey?" Mrs. Jones answers on the second ring.

"Yes, thank you." he grumbles, letting the line go dead.

"You really are a spoilt man." I tease.

"I have only what I pay for." he rolls into the covers. "Why were mornings ever invented?" he groans.

I pinch his naked bum, "Your mornings are only as good as you make them." I poke fun at him.

He raises an eyebrow at me, "Are you offering to give me something to smile about this morning?"

I roll my eyes at him, "Use your hand. My jaws hurt from last night." I think back to their exercise.

He smirks. "My box of tissues has run out." he peeks over at the empty box on the beside table.

"Your disgusting" I laugh, slipping out of bed and making my way into the bathroom.

Getting ready for work is a dream in Christian's bathroom, with the walk in shower, counter space, and oodles of room to roam, I'm ready in no time. In a silk ivory blouse, black skirt, with stockings and heels I feel as though I can rule my day and not have anything rule me. I feel in control today which is a little odd. Maybe it's because Carrick is finally letting up on me and giving me space to work instead and watching over my shoulder. I actually look forward to getting behind the keyboard and writing.

"You're still not up?" I can't believe it. Christian sits up in bed perched back against the puffy white pillows while sipping a jumbo sized cup of coffee.

"No." he frowns.

"Why?" I glance at the clock. It's almost nine.

"I don't feel like it, yet." he whines.

"Is something wrong?" I wonder. Usually he's up and out by now. The fact that he doesn't want to get up makes me feel as if he's resisting something.

"Nothings wrong. I'm just tired and grumpy." he complains. "I'll be in work by ten." he shrugs. "I do own the company, you know, I can waltz in and out whenever I like."

"Lucky you, I'm late." I frown. "I'll see you later." I kiss his cheek.

"Laters." he sighs.

* * *

I rest my face into my hand as I look uninterestedly at my computer screen. There's nothing to write about, I've worked through all of my e-mails and both Carrick and Elizabeth are absent. Half of the office has taken the day of due to some viral flu that's running it's way through town. Luckily; I got my flu shot so I'm covered. I wonder if Christian got his?

I sigh, _Christian_. Not an e-mail. A text. A phone call. Nothing. It's unusual of him to have not contacted me by now. It's almost four o'clock. I've tried his cell phone but he didn't answer. He's acting strange. This morning was odd. The way he woke up groaning and moaning is very unlike him. Usually he just gets up and gets on with it. He doesn't dwell too much. And never has he been so reluctant about going to work.

I pick up my phone and dial his office. Maybe his cell is out of battery?

"Grey House, Olivia speaking, how may I help you?" A sweet tone answers.

"Hi, I was wondering if Christian was there?" I question hesitantly.

"Mr. Grey isn't available at the moment." she speaks professionally. "May I take a message and have him get back to you?"

"It's Anastasia, Olivia." I say, knowing I'll be put straight through like I always am. He always takes my calls.

"Oh, Anastasia." she sounds surprised. "Mr. Grey hasn't come to the office today."

I suppress my surprise. "Okay. I'll get him on his cell phone." I lie.

I look at the clock; four-fifteen. Maybe he decided to take the day off?

I ring the house.

"Hello." Mrs. Jones picks up.

"Hey, Mrs. Jones, it's Ana." I tell her. "Christian wouldn't be there, would he?" I ask.

"No, he left just over an hour ago." she informs me.

"He didn't tell you where he was going?"

"No. Just something about running late for a meeting. He was all dressed up in a suit." she tells me.

"Okay, thank you."

This is strange; beyond strange. He won't return my calls. He lies to me about heading to work. And now no one knows where he is. What the hell is going on with him? He's acting so suspicious.

Maybe he's at the factory? I get an overwhelming surge that makes me know he is at the factory. A gut feeling. But, why? It's not a place he lingers. And why wouldn't he just tell me?

I look around me, many of my co-workers too locked in their own heads to notice me as I pick up my belongings and head out the door. _Fuck, work._ I'm too curious to not tail this mystery.

Every fibre within my body wills me not to get out of the taxi as it pulls up outside of the factory. _You shouldn't be here. He ordered you to never come here_ , my subconscious screams. I slap her down, knowing if I don't do this I'll panic myself to heart-failure. I just need to know he's alright. I need to know he's in one piece. Once I get a peak of him, I'll leave. _I'm worried . . ._

He was so reluctant this morning. And despite everything he told me about not being a morning person, it couldn't of been further from the truth. Every morning that we had spent together he had been in a relatively good mood. He wasn't bouncing with joy when he woke up but he was never so down. It was unlike him to want to be late. It's unlike him not to want to go to the office. Every morning he's been suited and booted and out the door at exactly eight-thirty and behind his desk at nine. The Christian I know likes to be punctual within his routine. And anyways, Sunday's are his lazy days. It's the only day he allows himself to slack off and sleep in.

I shiver as the freezing air chases away all of my heat, making me snuggle into my coat as I start walking towards the factory. I keep an eye-out for any wandering men patrolling the place but come to think of it, it's way too quiet around here. Not a soul can be seen or found. The only thing that's different are the three blacked-out Mercedes that are parked by the entry door. It's like a scene from the Godfather; like the mafia of some sort are here.

I quietly sneak into the factory, slowly making my way down the corridor. I can't hear any voices or movements. No one is working today. No conveyer belts are moving or full. It's almost empty in here. What the hell is going on?

I search around a little, finding stairs that lead up to another hallway and some rooms. It's a great viewing balcony to watch the action below. Maybe this is where Christian's second office is?

I just reach the top step when three men appear on the factory floor. They stand in a triangle shape, the man in the middle is clearly in control. He holds all the power just by the way he arrogantly points his chin towards the sky. He's aged, about fifty-five, and the two men who flank him are young, only in their early twenties. They're lean and athletically built, most likely his protection. They all have tanned skin and dark features. They're foreign, but I can't decide where they're from. Maybe Eastern Europe?

I gulp as one looks straight in my direction. I duck down and hide myself behind the industrial metal pipes that line the perimeter of the upstairs control rooms. I hold my breath as I hear a pair of footsteps moving towards me. I stay still and crouched, praying for all mercy that I don't get found.

His footsteps stop, the feeling of a pair of eyes searching around me is felt. The feeling in this room is palpable. The tension could be slit with a knife.

"Well, if it isn't the snake himself." Christian announces as he saunters down the hallway below me and strides into the open space, distracting the young man from investigating any further.

The man at the head of the triangle looks between his accomplices and Christian, assessing the situation around him before staring straight at Christian with blazing eyes. He obviously doesn't appreciate Christian's insult. The way he puffs his chest and broadens his shoulders is a clear indication of how he feels.

Taylor hovers a few feet behind Christian, his watchful gaze drinking in every inch of the scene before him. It's scary how he only ever blinks a few times every few minutes. He doesn't miss a thing. His stance is hostile. He's all burly with folded arms, a puffed out chest and standing tall. His expression frightens me a little. Usually he's a delicate presence when around me, but the way his eyes bug out of his head and his face is scrunched in stress and radiating an aggressive expression, shows me a different side of him. A terrifying side that I'm not sure I want to see. He looks like he's about to maul someone without a care in the world on his conscience.

"And what snake would that be?" his opponent retorts in a thick accent, looking Christian up and down.

"We had a deal." Christian's tone is menacing.

"Deals change." his opponent barks.

"No deals of mine _ever_ change. Especially, not last minute." he bellows. "How dare you think you can do this."

I gulp as his opponent suddenly bellows in his native tongue. He erupts into fierce anger, words ripping through the air and bouncing off of Christian's cool demeanor. Christian looks so unbothered by what is going on. He's way too nonchalant for my liking; as if he deals with this sort of thing all of the time.

I shiver against the now menacing muffles, the words strung together sounding foreign. It's definitely not English. I can't understand what this middle-aged tanned man is saying. His mouth moves rapidly, his eyes beady and stark. His anger radiates out of every pore as the vein in his forehead pulses out and strains thickly against his skin.

"Remember, General Medrano." the aged Spanish man speaks, as he points to himself. "Guerra. Estoy listo para la guerra." (War.I'm ready for war.)

It's pronunciation pulls me back to sixth grade Spanish class. I always hated Spanish, I was never good at the language, but I remember the word since it tied in with my history class. We had learned about ancient war in all cultures across the globe, understanding how America had become the America it is today by all its wars and battles for territory and independence. And I guess I had subconsciously picked up on a few Spanish words along the way.

The war I had learned about as a twelve year old with braces was very different to the war Christian and this man, General Medrano, are referring to. A war between gangs? A war between drug-lords? A war for territory? A war for hierarchy?

Is this man here to try and over-rule Christian? Is he here to take over this factory and replace Christian with someone else, someone who works for the drug-lords and answers only to them. It must be displeasing to have to answer to Christian and pay him off for every trade deal. In my mind, it seems as if it would be easier getting rid of Christian altogether by appointing someone new rather than keeping him in the position he's in. It must be incredibly expensive for them to pay Christian; not to mention the worry about him keeping his lips sealed.

If Christian was gone and his factory was taken over, it'd mean these guys have their very own factory within their cartel and have to answer to no one. It's almost like a new lion coming in and taking over a pride; he gets rid of the man stepping in his way of ruling his kingdom.

And Christian is the man in the way . . . the problem. _Shit!_

I'm pulled from my thoughts by Christian speaking Spanish. Christian is fluent in Spanish? How did I not know about this . . . these last six weeks we've gotten so close. We talk about everything. How did this not come up in conversation?

He directs Taylor to leave and roars his words at General Medrano and his two sidekicks, effectively having them take a few steps back. What the hell is he saying? He's intimidating them.

I peak over the railing to look below, my eyes straining as they move further into the factory, positioning themselves in the wide concrete space so they have more room to wander. I swallow hard, feeling as though I can't breathe, while watching Christian casually shrug off his jacket and begin to undo each cufflink at each wrist. What in the bloody hell is he doing? He looks as though he's preparing for a fight! Is he insane? Why is he rolling up his sleeves?

It doesn't take me long to realize the most likely outcome. It's a three to one standoff. Three tough looking Spanish men against Christian. Almost like a texas showdown.

General Medrano motions for Christian to hit him but Christian doesn't fall for it, he lets the General swing first and impressively ducks under his swinging arm before being stung by a right cross.

Hearing Christian grunt and splutter in pain causes my stomach to clench and roll sickly. He gets on his hands and knees and pulls himself upright, smiling at General Medrano and nodding his head as if to say _'you got me with that one'_. I close my eyes as I watch Christian abruptly swing a punch back, landing a straight right cross and then a left before kicking him in the gut, making him fall to the ground in the entryway.

General Medrano grunts in agony, before his sounds abruptly get cut off and the deafening silence surrounding me is all I can hear. My ears strain against the soft sounds of the factory pipes, but nothing else can be heard. I desperately want to vomit, dry heaves threatening to erupt from within me, but I simply can't get any up. The worry and pain that blocks my throat is too much to bear.

I struggle to see the continued action below, the metal piping and staircase blocking my view; but glimpses of General Medrano's accomplices going after Christian are what my eyes are greeted with.

I open my mouth to scream in protest as they close in on Christian, a hand abruptly clamping around my mouth and pulling my body back as I attempt to lean over the railing.

I kick and bleat in the hands of my unknown predator.

"Ms. Steele, stay quiet." It's Taylor.

"Taylor." I blast. "What the fuck is going on?" I demand to know.

He glares at me. "This is not the time or place for questions." he snaps.

"Tay-"

He grabs me by the waist and pulls me back into the hallway when I move to peek over the railing again. Loud voices boom from below as anger sets the tone of this place. Taylor cowers with me in his arms, keeping us hidden.

"Ms. Steele, you need to listen to me." he orders.

I whimper.

"Shut up. Please, ma'am." he looks at me with panicked eyes.

I gulp back my emotions, fighting against myself as tears sting my eyes and wet my cheeks. If Taylor's panicked, then I might as well be beyond frightened. Taylor keeps his hand firmly clamped over my mouth, his arm encircling around my waist and anchoring me down on the floor so I can't move.

Christian's voice echoes below, seething back at General Medrano with quiet aggression. He's deathly calm, almost whispering his anger. General Medrano cuts him off and barks something I can't hear and I gasp as his two henchmen lift rifles from under their shirts and aim straight at Christian, who takes a dive out of the firing line.

I cower into the floor as the gunshots splay in Christian's direction. The bullets cracked into the air like thunder, making sickening sounds as they connect and crush against the metal that shields Christian's body. I feel my heart drop to the floor and shatter into devastating pieces as I watch the three men power forward towards the one person in this world that I care about the most. Christian stays huddled behind one of the metal conveyer belts, protecting himself against the bullets.

Suddenly, five men appear behind Christian and fire shots of their own, running off the three Spaniards, having them abandon their assassination and take flight as they desperately run in different directions to get away from Christian's henchmen.

I release a deep breath when Christian stands, completely fine, in the now quiet factory, all the commotion being brought outside. I blink through my river of tears, petrified as my heart races against my clouded mind. The thing that scares me the most is that Christian looks unfazed by what has happened. As if this is a daily occurrence. He looks unshaken and collected. Like nothing is out of the ordinary. He simply collects his jacket and pulls it on, like another day at the office is over. Done.

All the color within my skin drains as the bald man in the soiled suit that intimidated me in Christian's office walks stiffly up to Christian's side.

 _Him_ again. What the hell is he doing here?

I sit with batted breath as I watch _him_ whisper something darkly into Christian's ear. Christian doesn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction, his eyes simply stay focused on a spot on the wall and harshly analyze it while the words sink in.

"Come." Taylor pulls me away from our hiding place.

"Wait." I object. "No." I push against Taylor's arms. I need to see what this guy is saying to Christian. I need to see the exchange between them. If this encounter has been because of _him_.

"We've got to get out of here." Taylor pushes me out of the factory doors and into the backseat of an SUV.

"Christian-" I cry in panic as I try and open the doors; they're locked.

"He is well able to handle himself." Taylor promises as he starts the engine and pulls away.

"Who is that guy?" I wonder.

"Put your seatbelt on, Ms. Steele." he orders, cooly.

I sit back and do as he says, the car surging forward and weaving through traffic.

"I need answers, Taylor." I beg.

"It's not my tea to spill." he responds, eyes focused on the road.

"At least tell me a name. The bald man's name."

"Listen, Mr. Grey is leaving the factory premises in less than five minutes. He'll stop by his office on the way home to take a brief phone call and then he'll be back at his place for the evening. That gives you fifteen minutes to get yourself together before you see him. You need to pull yourself together," Taylor advises. "I'm not going to tell him you were at the factory. And you won't tell him either. If he finds out, it'll be curtains for you. He'll emotionally close off and banish you from his life."

"I need answers." My voice is weak with fear. What is happening?

"I can't give you what you wish to know." Taylor parks outside of Christian's house. "Here," he passes me my backpack and some mail. "Mr. Grey had me collect some things from your apartment. Maybe if you read something it'll distract you and shift your thoughts."

"Okay."

I slip out of the car when Taylor releases the locks. My legs are lead-like, almost like I'm wobbling on stilts, as I enter his house. It's empty and quiet but my brain keeps me company. The bouncing noise, colorful vivid images of todays antics and piercing questions are what shadow my every move.

I shuffle through the pile of envelopes in my hands, hoping for a distraction. I lift a postcard from the pile and look over the playful colorful drawing of a cat and mouse. The cat has his paw on the mouses tail, trapping him from moving as he makes a dash to runaway. I flip over to read the message, half expecting it to be from my mother, and my eyes widen at the message written straight from a typewriter.

 **I Am Watching You.**

I gulp back my sudden fear as my heart thumps so loud I can hear it in my ears, my body jumping at the sudden shuffling of keys and the front door slamming closed followed by Christian's heavy footsteps.

"Ana." he calls out from the hallway.

"Christian." I call back as I rush to hide the postcard between a stack of books arranged neatly on the shelf. Now is not the time to share this with him.

"There you are, what are you reading?" he wonders while walking into the room, as he watches me turn away from the bookshelf.

"Oh, just seeing what novels you've got." I brush it off and walk straight up to him. _He's alive._ _Thank God!_ I wrap my arms around him, feeling emotional as I do so. His pulse racing under my hand, his heart beating under my ear when my head is placed against his chest, it feels so good to have him here with me. Alive. to hold him and know that he's safe.

"How was your day at the office?" I play along with the script in my head. I'm following Taylor's advice. He can't know I saw what went down at the factory this afternoon. He'll never give me the answers I need if he knows I'm shadowing him.

"Boring. Inactive. Not much was going on today." he sounds so smooth. It's such a lie, but if I hadn't of known where he was this afternoon I would have been oblivious and believed him completely. "What about your day, dear?" he pecks my lips a few times.

"The same; boring." I rest my forehead against his chest and kiss his heart over his shirt. I can't let him see my face; he'll see through me. So, instead, I hug him tight.

He kisses the top of my head. "Tomorrow will be better. I need to go and change out of this suit, it stinks." he frowns.

I sniff his shirt. "It does." I agree. "Is that an engine oil smell? Petrol?" I crinkle my nose.

"Probably from the shipment that came in today." he shrugs so nonchalantly.

"What is engine oil and petrol from a ship doing on your clothes?" I test in confusion, seeing if he'll tell me anything.

"I don't know, it's probably from what was in the air. Don't worry too much about it." he starts becoming defensive.

I let it go. He'll turn something small into a fight to keep me away from what he's not telling me. He's going to do as I predicted and hide what happened today from me. I step back and look him over, a deep shadow marking the corner of his jaw and the base of his temple.

"You're hurt?" I question, lifting my hand to examine the punch. I hold him closer as I force him to turn his head by tilting his chin.

"Ana, I'm fine. Seriously, it's a bruise." he shrugs it off.

"It is a bruise." I agree. "What I find worrying is how you got it?" I stare him in the eyes.

"Boxing. I went to the gym this afternoon." he lies so smoothly. God, how do I know what to believe with him?

"We need to ice the bruise." I suggest, feeling as though I need to keep busy so I won't throw up.

"I already did." he protests.

"Why do I feel as thought you're lying to me?" I blurt, my eyes stinging with tears. I don't like him lying.

"Ana," his eyes soften. "Punches and bruises happen all of the time. I'm a guy."

"You're not a teenager anymore, Christian. This isn't as if you're a drunk university student coming home from a bar fight." I complain. "I don't believe you. This is too severe for a boxing glove. I can see the guys knuckles marked against your skin."

He sighs. "I don't want to lie to you."

"Then tell me the truth." I beg. "I can handle it." _I've already seen it happen._

"Business. Messy business." he stares at me with a cool expression, almost bracing for my wrath.

I make an effort not to bombard him. I need to ease into this to gather more information.

"Someone hit you?"

"Yes." he nods.

"Why?" I blink back my emotions.

"It's all a little misunderstanding." he promises, and his genuine tone and expression makes me believe him.

"What was misunderstood?"

"Power. Hierarchy." he shrugs. "Sometimes people think they know all about something when they don't know two shits and it makes them feel like they can take control when that's not how it works." he mumbles.

"Someone tried to overrule you?" I gulp.

"Tried." his expression is smug and humorous.

I pinch his chest.

"Ow." he frowns with a playful smile.

"Don't look so condescending." I scold, my eyebrows knit in a worried line. "This isn't funny."

"Okay, I get it. I'm sorry, but it feels good that business is back in order." he says, and then looks as if he instantly regrets it.

"When was business ever not in order?" It's my turn to frown.

"It's always been in order. It's feels good that no one is sticking their ass in where it doesn't belong." he corrects.

I let my eyes scan over him, the statement he has just made is true but vague compared to what he could have said.

"I suppose this is as good a time as ever to tell you that I'm heading to New York this Thursday." he announces.

I frown deeply, "Why?" I wonder.

"Business. Legal, legit business. I need to visit a client of mine." he tells me.

"No wrong-sided business? No scary people who are going to punch you?" I check.

"No, dear. Just a few men in a boardroom talking about finance and international banking." he mumbles, pulling me in for a hug.

I wrap my arms tightly around his waist. After nearly loosing him this afternoon, I can't help but melt into his arms. This is where I need to be.

"I miss you, already." I pout.

He laughs, his hand spanking my ass and making me squeak. "I won't be gone long. I'll be back late Friday night."

"I'll be waiting up for you." I promise, burying my head into his chest. My nose crinkles again as I get a whiff of his shirt. "Go change." I release him.

He laughs in amusement, smelling himself. "That bad?"

"Yeah." I try to smile but can't. That damn postcard makes a comeback running through my main thoughts.

His forehead crinkles at my tone but he leaves the room without a word.

I let out a deep breath and gaze back at the bookshelf. _Who in the world is watching me?_

 **A/N – PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter. See you next week! Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx.**


	13. Chapter 12: Journal

**A/N – Thank you for all the support! Here's the next chapter since I didn't post the week before last. Hope you enjoy it. See you next week. Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx.**

 **JOURNAL**

I make a conscious effort while getting ready for bed to forget about the postcard that I have hidden between the books downstairs. I won't tell Christian until he gets back from his trip. If he finds out he'll decide not to go. He'll stay here hovering over me while sending his henchmen out on the trail to discover who sent it. And, although I want to find out, I'm not going to let him throw away his business deal because of this. What's a few extra days of not telling him? It's not a big deal. As soon as he gets back I'll spill the tea.

The covers move and a sudden _thump_ sounds out from the floor. I spring in reaction, my body falling back against the mattress involuntarily as the shock waves wash through me.

"Jeez, why are you so jumpy?" Christian's eyebrows furrow. "It was just my iPad. It fell on the floor." He stretches and lifts it from the carpet, placing it carefully onto the bedside table.

"I just got a fright, is all." I shrug, trying desperately to be nonchalant as my fingers twist with themselves to distract my brain from my worry.

 _Should I tell Christian I was at the factory?_ I contemplate. _No!_ My subconscious barks. _Not until he comes back from New York. Whatever business is going on it must be big since he's leaving the country to go deal with it. Now is not the time. Let him go and come back in one piece._

But, _I need answers_ , I strike back. Lots of answers. The what, when, how, and, why. The who can stay out of it. I don't need to know names.

"Ana-" Christian calls.

"Shit . . ." I blink out of my thoughts, jumping again. I wasn't expecting him to raise his voice. "Yeah?" I look at him.

"I called your name like five times. What's up with you?" he wonders.

"Nothing. I'm fine." I retort.

"Fine?" he tests.

"Yes, Christian. Fine." I bite, rolling over.

"Alright then." he groans bitterly, "Goodnight." he switches off the light.

I sigh, reaching out to hold his hand. "Night."

Letting go of his frustration with me, he wraps an arm around me and holds my hand. I smile half-heartedly, feeling comfort with him holding me.

Laying with Christian in my arms, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed after such a hectic traumatizing day. Seeing bullets fired at him as he crouched to protect himself was a bitter image to swallow, but seeing how okay he was by it was a daunting thing to acknowledge. Maybe he was fine because he knew he had people to protect him. Maybe he saw it coming. Maybe it's happened so many times before it's nothing new. Maybe he grew up around it.

I sigh, I could have lost him. Where would I be then? Alone. All alone. It has only been two month but I've been so drawn to him. We're so close. He makes me happy. In an odd twisted circumstance that is his life, he makes me happy. And I care deeply about him, so deeply.

I love him.

That's why I vow not to share the threatening postcard with him until he returns. I'll tell him them. I'll open up to him and let him know how terrified I am. Right now he needs to focus. He needs to go to New York toast good business and get back in one piece. He was so excited about it while having dinner, he was animated when talking about it which means this deal is really important to him; I can't take that light away from him. I can remain intact until for three more days.

Anyway, I'm sure it's an empty threat. Some stranger thinking their funny or some kid mucking around with their friends. The drawing was pretty immature and childlike anyways. Who draws a cat and mouse?

"Why are you awake?" Christian's voice startles me in the dark. He rolls over and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me to his chest.

"My brain is too loud." I whisper.

"Anything you want to share?" he wonders, using a softer appraoch than before.

"It's nothing important. Just work."

"You're lying." he accuses.

My cheeks flame against the darkness, the skin of my arms starting to boil. "No, I'm not." I frown.

"You are." his tone is soft. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me something. Just please don't lie to me." he pleads.

I sigh. "I don't want to talk about it." I admit with a sulky frown. Why is he so good at reading me?

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" he checks, squeezing me to him.

"Yeah."

"You sure?" he presses.

"No."

"Tell me." he urges.

"I'm fine." I back out.

"Can you give me an alternative word?"

I pause. "Overwhelmed." I answer, having thought for a minute.

"Overwhelmed?" he chews the word, letting it sink in. "What's going on, Anastasia?" Christian moves back so that I can roll over to face him, looking at me with scrutinizing eyes.

I shake my head, "It doesn't matter." It's a dead end. He won't open up to me, so what's the point of wasting breath?

"Yes it does. If somethings bothering you I can help." he offers.

"No you can't." I frown. "That's the problem. You can't help because you won't help. You won't help me understand anything. You don't give me answers to my questions."

His eyes widen a little and his lips curve downwards as his eyebrows scrunch together. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything." I breath. "But, mostly, why. Why do you do this?" I look up at his face with glassy eyes, my emotions swimming within my irises as he looks down at me. "Why, Christian?"

He gulps back his own emotion, looking moved by my genuine intensity.

"I'm not going to open my mouth to anyone. I'll keep it all to myself. Locked away in a safe place. I just want to get an insight into this. You're so different from your work, so much more than it. Why this bad path when you're on such a good one?"

His thump reaches up and catches a few stray tears that leak from my eyes. He brushes them away as he digests my words, falling silent as they pounce of his ears and fill his brain.

I frown as I wait for him to say something.

"See . . ." I accuse. "You won't tell me anything."

"I don't know how to tell you." he admits.

"In any way that you can. I'm open ears." I vow. "I care about you." I tenderly kiss his lips, holding him tight. "I care about you so much . . . I think I might love you." I gulp at my daunting admission, but it's true. I can't stay away from him. I can't get enough of him. I love him.

"You love me?" his jaw drops.

"Yes, Christian. Is it so hard to see?" I pout. "I've been with you almost every night for the past four weeks. Holding you, loving your body, listening to you, adoring your mind, watching you and all the little ticks you have. I've stood by you through your admissions, I'm just trying to understand you a little more; unconditionally."

Emotion swims in Christian's eyes. "I love you, Ana."

"What?"

"I love you." he repeats. "So much."

"How? Why?" _What?_

"You make me happy. You bring a smile to my face just by the thought of you. You bring light and hope of a better future, of a better life. Not this shit one. You take care of me. You don't want me for my money or my status. You adore me the way I am. I love that about you. I love you, for all that you are, no matter what."

"Then tell me why, Christian. We love each other." I kiss his lips. "I've been by your side this long, I'm not going to run now." I vow.

He takes a deep breath. "I'm terrified you'll run."

"I couldn't even if I wanted to." I whisper against his lips. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?" he looks me in the eyes.

"I promise." I stare him straight in the eyes.

"And you won't open your mouth?" his voice quivers, he's scared.

I hold him tighter. "I won't ever say a word to anyone." I vow.

He takes in a deep breath, kissing my forehead softly and cuddling himself into my body. "It happened without me wanting it to happen," he starts and my heart races against his words. "I was twenty-one setting up my first company in the final year of university. I was so sick of where I lived at the time. Surrounded by posh fucks flaunting what they had, and well, I was a scholarship kid. I didn't have what they had, I had to go out and earn money if I wanted nice things. My parents couldn't provide me with an unlimited bank account, they were useless and dead and buried at that stage.

"I was very angry with them and at the world. I had been handed a pretty shit deck of cards from the start and although I got a good education from the goodness of someone else, my emotional turmoil was difficult to handle . . . so I started using. It wasn't anything hardcore, just a puff of marijuana to get me through the weekends while school was over and my mind was unoccupied. I used to go back to where I lived, to the dealers there, to get what I wanted off of them. I did so for about a year, and then my company started making money. I was dressing better. I was groomed. Driving fancy cars. I looked the part. I could handle myself well. I could negotiate good business.

"I usually went down to my old neighborhood where I grew up in the wee hours of Saturday mornings to collect the drugs I wanted, and one Saturday I didn't show up. I decided to quite smoking and deal with my problems head on, that's how I met Dr. Flynn. But, when I didn't show up for a while they came looking for me.

"I had forgotten to pay off a small debt that built up in my absence. They came to sort me out. And that's when Ross came into the picture, the baldy guy who was at my office. He saw where I worked, he saw how I was dressed, he saw that my life was fresh and new and free of any shit. He knew my father, my father did some hurtful things to his family, so it was the ultimate revenge for him to do hurtful things to me to get back at him. I settled the debt, sent them packing on their way, but he set me up. He broke into my office, placed a brick of cocaine in my desk and tipped off the police. He gave me an ultimatum, I offer my factory for deliveries or I spend seventeen years in a prison cell for something I didn't do.

"I had money, but not enough to pack up my life and move. My company was too premature to make it elsewhere than London. And with the recession business was difficult enough. That's how it all started . . ." he looks ashamed.

I hold him tight, entwining out fingers that rest on the soft mattress. "Go on." I urge, running my hands through his hair as he rests his head on my chest. He finds it easier to talk without looking at me.

"Then the shipments started coming in and I was getting paid. It was good money. Money I could pump into my business and use to grow my market. It made me successful and I got greedy, so I continued with the shipments. And then one day I realized this isn't what I want anymore. I don't want to constantly look over my shoulder and wonder when I'll be caught. It's so risky. But, I'm too far down the pipeline to get out clean. If I walk away without sorting a deal first, my options are either a bullet in the back of the head or thirty years in prison. I don't want to die, I'm too young. But, what life is worth living if it's behind metal bars in a cage? It's all pretty fucked up."

"It's a shit situation." I agree through my tears. "Thank you for telling me." I kiss the top of his head. _He's not all bad._

"Why are you crying?" he wonders.

"You're in pain, Christian. You took drugs to fill the void in your childhood. To help you deal with the loss of your parents. The loss of a stable loving home in which you craved. That pain caused you to turn to something horrible because you didn't know how to cope. And in return you were fucked over by life, yet again, by having someone come in and turn a young mans life upside down for his own benefit." I wipe away my streaming tears. "It's really sad, Christian. That Ross guy can look at you in the same light as your father and get revenge. He shouldn't take your father's mistakes out on you. It's not right. He took advantage. He saw your situation for what it was and trapped you. It's sickening."

"He doesn't control me anymore, Anastasia. I'm higher ranking than him. But, as I said, I'm too far down the pipeline. It's dirty messy work. Very few people get out in one piece." he snuggles me into his arms.

"I love you." I whisper into his chest.

"Still?" he seems shocked.

"Still, as madly and passionately as ever." I promise.

"You aren't going to run?" he smiles shyly, almost delighted at the thought.

"I told you, I'll stick by your side like glue for as long as you want me."

"I love you, Anastasia." he smiles, kissing my lips.

I hum against his mouth, wrapping my legs around his hips as he rolls on top of me. "Make love to me, Christian."

His eyes go wide. "Are you sure? You're ready?"

"I've been ready for a long time. I'm just really nervous." I admit.

"I won't hurt you." he vows with sincere eyes.

"I know, Christian." I smile, kissing his lips. "Love me."

"With pleasure, Anastasia." he pecks my lips. "What about protection? Condoms?"

"If you have them." I peek up at him from under my eyelashes.

He reaches across to the nightstand and opens a draw, pulling one out and placing it beside us for when it's needed. He stares at me for a moment, silently asking if this is what I want. I smile up at him, caressing his cheek with my hand and pulling his lips back to mine.

He traces my facial features with the tips of his fingers. He delicately caresses my cheekbones, his index finger sweeping down to trace my lips before outlining my jawline and traveling south down my neck. We strip each other quickly, throwing our clothing across the room. He stops to kiss the soft flesh under my ear before continuing on to pleasure my breasts.

It isn't my first time, but I'm so nervous you'd never guess it. Christian holds me softly and tightly, reassuring me.

There's something about him that has me panting uncontrollably, craving every inch of him inside me, itching for his pounding rhythm to fill me. Our limbs dance together, grinding deliciously into one another and forming the perfect reactions each and every time.

I stay cradled in his arms, our limbs tangled as we hold each other. Our hands softly caress each others skin, so delicately it leaves shivers of pleasure in their tracks. I smile against his stretched lips, pressing my plump lips so delicately against his.

"You okay?" he checks while tearing open the condom and rolling it on himself.

"Yes." I kiss his neck, shyly snuggling my head into the curve of his shoulder as he positions himself at my entrance.

Christian takes my hands in his, entwining our fingers while slowly pushing into me. I gasp at the feeling of him stretching me, tearing deliciously through my dry-spell with ease and filling me completely. I moan softly in his ear; he feels so good.

"Oh, Ana," he moans against my lips, the both of us nose to nose as he slowly slides in an out of me, letting me get used to him.

I whimper in pleasure as Christian moves his body against mine, grabbing the back of my neck and gently pulling my head back so he gained full access to my neck. He growls in delight when I wrap my legs around his hips and push myself against his throbbing member.

"Ah, I love you." I murmur as he quickens his pace.

He groans against my words, burying himself in me and hugging me tight, holding me so close. He loves me, slowly moving in an out of me as he savors me. I gasp as I feel the kicks of pleasure all over, my body starting to quiver against him. He holds my hips in his hands and gently starts to pick up a faster rhythm, driving me to my orgasm.

"I love you, baby." he thrusts so deep and his words are my undoing.

"Christian." I call out, and he groans, the both of us crashing down with pleasure together.

* * *

I wake up with a smile, warmly cocooned in the covers while being wrapped around my sexy man.

"Why are you so happy?" Christian teases, kissing the top of my head.

I giggle happily, stroking the small hairs on his chest. "I love you." I whisper to him.

"I love you, too, Anastasia." he whispers back with shining eyes. "Your mine."

"I'm yours." I agree, kissing his collarbone and hitching my leg over his hip and pulling myself up to straddle him. "You've awoken a beast, Mr. Grey." I tease, clawing at his chest.

His eyes widen but his smile is everything. "What do you plan on doing, Ms. Steele?" he wonders.

I softly stroke him, my core dripping wet against his thigh. "I think I want to ride you." I bite my lip with flushed cheeks.

He sits up, tucking a loose stand of hair behind my ear. "You think?" he questions.

I kiss his cheeks. "I want to."

He smiles warmly at me. "Only if you want to." he assures, squeezing my bum cheek.

I hum, "I want to."

I push him back down and reach for the condom on the bedside table. I stroke him in my hand, leaning down to take him in my mouth and pleasure him with my tongue before rolling the condom down on his long length.

I place my hand on Christian's chest to steady myself as I position him at my entrance, slowly pushing down on him and letting him disappear inside my warm dripping wet pussy. I gasp in pleasure as he fills me.

"Fuck." Christian groans, his hips flexing upwards.

I moan against him, placing my hands firmly on his pecs. I start moving over him, circling my hips and pushing down on him in a slick rhythm, claiming him as mine. Christian's moans of pleasure are my source of encouragement, he softly purrs and growls from the base of his throat. I squeak in delight as his hands come down to take ahold of my hips, moving me up and down as he pushes into me.

"Fuck, Ana." he sits up, taking ahold of me and pushing me down on him, moving fast.

"Ah, Christian." I come undone around him, clenching tightly against his dick as he crashes too.

* * *

 **From:** Christian Grey

 **Subject:** Mornings

 **To:** Anastasia Steele

I haven't stopped thinking about you since I dropped you off this morning. What a little vixen you've turned out to be. Two best shags of my life. I can't wait to see you tonight.

I love you, sweetheart.

XC

 **Christian Grey**

 **CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.**

I bite my lip to stifle my delighted giggle as I sit at my desk in work. I blush crimson at his words; yes I like sex Christian. And I can't wait to do it again with you.

 **From:** Anastasia Steele

 **Subject:** Evenings

 **To:** Christian Grey

Just you wait until tonight! I can think up a few things we can do . . .

Until then, work calls for.

I love you, Christian.

Xx. A.

I sigh as I open up my journal, looking through all the ideas I've written for an article. I only have a few days left to think of something. I can't write about anything Christian has told me, that is a dead zone, a no go. I wouldn't want people knowing about it anyway.

God, poor Christian! He's got a lot to deal with, a huge amount of things overflowing his plate. I'm glad he finally opened up to me. It's brought us even closer like I knew it would. Last night was magical, special . . . I can't think of a better way to lose myself in him.

I frown as my fingers itch to write, my brain pushing away my happy thoughts and overflowing with the new information on Christian, as my journal screams at me to be scribbled upon. My pen glares at me from it's cradle beside my phone, almost shadowing me to write. But the only thing I can think of writing is about the bad stuff, I have so many bottled feelings about the factory and what I saw . . . about 'baldy' and how he makes me feel.

I slowly pick up my pen, looking at the blank page. I could scribble a few things down . . . no names, no locations, no mention of any drugs. Just my feelings on it all. I need to express myself some way since I can't talk to anyone, the NDA denies me of the privilege. It's not like anyones going to read my journal, it's my private space to write and it's always hidden at the bottom of my handbag or in my underwear draw at home. I need to express myself. It feels so good to have my pen gliding across the fine paper, decorating the soft ivory with blue ink.

 **A/N – PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I love hearing your feedback. It gives me ideas! See you next week. Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx.**


	14. Chapter 13: Blind

**A/N – Thank you for all the support! Here's the next chapter early since I'll be traveling this weekend and next week so I don't know when I'll be able to write and post! I hope by the end of next week I'll have the next chapter up. Fingers crossed! Hope you enjoy this one. See you sometime next week. Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx.**

 **BLIND**

"Sweetheart, I'm leaving." Christian calls to me as I finish getting ready for bed.

"Remind me again why you booked the early morning flight rather than the mid-morning one?" I pout as I peck his lips.

He encircles me in his arms. "A 2AM flight means I'll sleep the whole way there. I'll be well rested for my meeting and I'll get into the city early." he checks his watch. "And with you in bed beside me, I'd end up missing my flight because of morning sex." he teases.

I giggle and kiss his lips again. "Have a safe flight, darling. Do good business. And get back home safe." I rub his chest lovingly. I can't believe I'll be without him for two whole days. What am I going to do with myself?

"I will. You keep yourself together while I'm gone. Don't go doing anything dangerous." he warns.

I roll my eyes. "And what danger could I possibly get into?" I tease.

He glares playfully at me. "Be good."

"I will if you will."

"Well, I can't deny I'll be wanking myself in the shower thinking about you before I go to bed but other than that, I'll be as good as gold."

I shove playfully at his chest. "Get out of here you naughty boy!"

"One more kiss." he pouts, pulling me into his arms.

I give him what he wants, pulling him tightly to me and letting him dominate my mouth. _This_ is a true goodbye kiss. Full of passion and love as we swirl our tongues and fight for dominance, our hands in each others hair and our limbs entangled within one another.

"I love you." he kisses my forehead.

"I love you, too." I walk him to my front door. "I'll see you on Friday night."

"Friday night, honey." he promises, hugging me tight before slipping out the door.

I sigh as I lock the door behind him, silence invading every crevice of this place. It's so dead without him here. Lifeless.

I settle on the couch and cozy up under my blanket in front of the fire as I take my journal from my bag. I flick through all the pages, everything I have written about my abusive relationship, my paranoia, how Christian makes me feel, his work . . . it's all there scribed in messy blue ink. I settle to the last page and reread what I have written about Christian. I haven't mentioned his name or what he does or any locations; no mention of drugs or factories. Just evil characters.

I describe my encounter with 'baldy' in Christian's office, highlighting how he made me feel and compare it with my past and how it links. I also analyze what I wrote about Christian, how the young and vulnerable can be overruled by a higher power and then, when the young and vulnerable becomes strong, how they take that power back and claim the kingdom as theirs. Just like Christian has done with his factory; he's completely pushed 'baldy' back into a corner where he belongs.

Reading about what I wrote regarding Christian's _'road-side business'_ is hard to stomach. My emotions are dark to begin with, misunderstanding everything he's doing and shaming him for it, before my writing starts to become light and understanding. It's simply a description of emotions and situations; almost fantasy but dark. Like a nightmare.

I have added a few extracts from some of my favorite books; small quotes that reflect upon our circumstances. I'm sure if anyone found this they'd think I was trying my hand at writing a dark twisted fiction between two lovers trapped in their own pain. Completely tormented by what's happened in their lives.

 _Maybe that could be a concept to write about in the future . . ._ my subconscious chimes. I attempt to push her away as I run my fingers over the ink, pressing the paper where my pen ran heavy, _this is all in the past . . ._ my subconscious echoes. _And it should stay in the past . . ._ she demands.

I know she's right. Why continue to carry my past forward? Everything that's happened has had a reason to it, Christian opened up to me and I know that was daunting for him but his work can't be helped. It's something we have to deal with if we want to be together. Something I have to accept – that's something I've realized since writing this all down. At least he's not hiding it from me anymore. He's more open about it.

I close my journal, eyeing the fire. "The past is the past," I say as I chuck it in the flames. "And the present is what it is." I sigh, watching the fire consume the black leather and burn my scribbled pages.

I place the guard across the fire to keep it contained, watching my past dwindle away in heat and feeling a little more light as a result.

I flick off all the lights on my way to my room at midnight, making sure everything is secure and locked up before crawling in between the sheets.

Not having Christian here is a nightmare in itself. Never has my bed felt so spacious and cold. I roll around in the dark for a long time trying to get comfortable, cocooning myself in a duvet mess before unrolling myself because I've become too hot. Christian is my perfect radiator. Not too hot, not too cold. Just right.

I sigh as I think of him; I hope he has a safe flight. I was never a good flier, I'm always nervous before I get on a plane. I wonder if he's a nervous flier too? I'll have to ask him.

He sounded relaxed about this business trip. He didn't seem uneasy or worried about anything so I know legal business is going well for him. I just wish he'd give up all of this illegal shit. It's all so unpredictable. One minute things are fine and the next he's fighting against a challenging power. How many General Medrano's is he going to have to fight before he realizes that enough is enough.

He can't keep up with the game. And maybe that's it, it's the game that he enjoys. Maybe it's the game that is his very own addiction. He loves the control, the money, the power. Maybe it thrills him.

I'm too in love with him to let him go. I know that for sure. And with this hooligan threatening me, whoever it is that's after me, it helps having Christian around. I feel protected by him. Nobody's going to get me as long as he's around; I'm sure of it. He's too damn careful and cautious to let anything happen to me, even with the work he does.

Eventually, I fall into a deep slumber. I regret it immediately as I get caught in a nightmare that carries me back to the past and dumps me at the feet of my ex.

I dreamt of his eyes. The menacing dark glint that haunts his irises and shadows the deep pools of black that swell unnaturally against the substance flooding his veins. He's staring right at me, never allowing my stance to leave his sight.

He examines me, his eyes scrutinizing every inch of my body as I curl into myself. His eyes invade my personal space, lapping up the size of my breasts as he leers at me. Standing in the hallway at the office, I regret my outfit choice. A modest black leather skirt with matching tights and a crisp white v-neck blouse that compliments my collarbones. We face each other in the dingy narrow hallway, six feet apart, in a completely empty room.

The way he peers at me, his gaze swinging from north to south and constantly never knowing where to look or what to focus on, transports me back to the days I spent cooped up in our old apartment in Boston. A prisoner within my own home. Like a bird never free from a cage with a snake striking its feet from below, dragging me downward as he curls and constricts around me, suffocating every physical and emotional fibre within my body. Killing me so slowly, so painfully.

And just like that, he lunges at me.

I leap from his grasp, my eyes snapping open and being greeted by the silent dark room that surrounds me. I gasp out in panic, struggling to control the guttural sobs that get tangled in the base of my throat.

I lie in the sweaty sheets of my bed, searching around for any signs of invasion. Nothing is different. No one has been in here. Everything is the same as it was before I fell asleep. A deep sigh of relief washes out of me when my head hits the pillow, my body no longer tensed up in a tight curl. _He's gone_.

I am awoken again in the morning by the dull streams of light that shine through the gaps in the curtains. I'm quick to get ready. I dash in and out of the shower, leaving my hair in a messy ponytail and dress quickly. I skip makeup, only using facial creams to hide any imperfections and to conceal my tired eyes. Coffee is the only remedy to fix me this morning, so I make sure to pour myself a hefty cup before leaving for work.

"Good morning." I greet Taylor as I hop in the backseat.

"Morning, Ms. Steele." he grumbles back.

 _Jeez, who took the jam out of your donut?_ My subconscious rolls her eyes.

"Ms. Steele?" he says out of the blue when he parks outside my office.

"Yes." I take my hand off the door handle and look at him.

"Is everything okay?" he wonders with concerned eyes.

"Yes. Why?" I wonder.

He lifts the postcard I had left jammed between the books on the shelf at Christian's for my viewing.

"Mrs. Jones found this while she was cleaning the living room this morning. It's addressed to you. Are you okay, ma'am?" he asks.

"I'm fine." I snag the postcard from his hand. "Don't worry about it. I'll tell Christian as soon as he gets back." I promise, knowing he'd want Christian to know.

"Ana," he calls my name, stopping me again from getting out of the car. "I'll make sure to patrol your home while Christian's gone . . . not that we're already doing that but at night time, it'll be covered." he promises with concerned eyes. Almost pitiful.

"Thank you." I feel a weight lift off my chest. I can breath a little easier.

* * *

"Ana. Where's my report?" Carrick barks across the office, as I slide my fresh new journal out of its plastic. I always keep one spare in my desk drawer.

"Right here." I hold it up for the benefit of his view. "Three pages and four thousand words like you asked."

"Are you trying to brown-nose me? That's not a way to get a promotion, you know." he bites.

I frown at him. "Sir, that's not my intention." I shake my head.

"Yeah, right." he sneers. "Elizabeth is waiting for you in the boardroom. Whatever she wants you to do, do it." he orders.

"Yes, Sir." I mumble, my energy for this day has been completely killed. Is it because Christian is out of town? Because Christian's not around he's allowed to treat me like dog shit. And even if Christian was here, what does he have to do with it? I shouldn't be treated this way regardless.

I frown at Elizabeth as she waits for me with a pinched-face expression. Whatever I'm about to be hit with I'm not going to like it. In fact, I'm positive anything that dribbles out of her mouth is something that I'm going to hate.

"We need another article on Grey." she announces.

"What? No." I complain. "I just ran an article on him. There's enough content in there to last a year."

She rolls her eyes at me. "Word has got out that you're dating Christian Grey. Whatever you right in that column of yours people believe it. You're like a named source of information. The popularity for our articles has spiked in recent weeks. We're finally getting recognition for all our work." she beams.

" _Our_ work?" I glare.

Her lips twist in distaste of my comment. "Our work. You write, I publish."

"More like you dictate," I mumble.

"What was that?" she glares.

"Nothing." I roll my eyes and make sure she sees what I'm doing. "I have nothing else to give you."

"How is he in bed?"

"ELIZABETH!" I scold.

"Alright!" she swats her hands at me, "Too personal. I get it." she rolls her eyes back at me.

I frown at her. "I'm not giving any intimate details. It stays at social events and corporate happenings." I demand.

"Ana, you'll get promoted if you keep up the good work. It's guaranteed. A few hints of what he's like at home and an insight to his personality traits will do the trick." she shrugs in excitement as if it's no big deal.

"My private relationship is priceless to me. It means more than a fucking job promotion." I bite back. "He's a sacred part of my life."

"A few dainty details isn't much. Enough to feed the vultures." Elizabeth tries her hand at persuasion.

"Let the vultures starve." I stand to leave.

"If there's no article, there's no seat for you in this company." she tells me as I have my hand on the door.

I gulp back my emotions as I look at the door handle. My hand shakes against it. With everything in me I want to open the door and walk out, but the responsible side of my brain kicks in all too soon. Without this job I have no place to live and no food in the fridge. I don't have too many options going for me right now. Not until I build my CV and references.

With bubbling anger and a deflated mood, I slowly turn away from the door and look at Elizabeth. She smirks at me, making me feel as though I want to smack her across the mouth. Her arms are folded and she lazes back in her seat looking smug with herself.

"We need an article." she almost sings.

"I don't have information to give." I shake my head, almost ashamed that I'm still standing here dealing with this. But, I need the paycheck.

"You have all of the information. Rifle through it, find something interesting and write it down. Have it on my desk by Monday morning. That gives you enough time to figure it all out."

"Elizabeth, this isn't right. This goes against my human rights. You're asking me to bring my personal life into my work. This isn't what I signed up for." I shake my head. "I can't spill personal details about Christian. It's not fair."

"And it's not fair that we're all hanging by a thread in this company. We've finally got some popularity. You hold the key to our success. If you don't give this your all this ship sinks. And if this ship sinks it will taint your CV forever. Who, at any major publishing house, is going to hire someone responsible for a departments downfall?" she paints a pretty clear picture. It's like my career is over before it's really began. "It's your choice, Steele. There's an extreme option on either end."

I step back with a frown, briefly closing my eyes in contemplation. "I'll see what I can do." I mutter before walking out of the boardroom.

I dash to the ladies toilets and close the toilet lid to sit down. I look towards the ceiling, not allowing the tears swimming in my eyes to fall down my cheeks. _This is such a fucked up situation,_ my subconscious screams. _They can't do this to you._

 _They can!_ They _are_ doing this to me. Wether I like it or not they're putting the weight and baggage of this department on my shoulders. And for what, a few measly readers? Well, maybe thousands of new readers, but it's still not fair.

Selling my relationship is sickening. I won't do it. Maybe a few more facts on Christian's legal business deal, but not without Christian being involved. I guess we could lie? Make up a few things? _Christian wouldn't like that though, you'd be making him out to be something he's not,_ my subconscious pipes in.

What can I do? Spill everything truthful? Like that's going to happen . . . there would be worldwide headlines if the truth ever got out. _Oh, God . . . what to do?_

* * *

The rest of my day drags by. I avoid Elizabeth and Carrick at all cost, even running out the door so I don't have to spend lunch cooped inside the jammed cafeteria. As I walk around the high street I can't help but feel paranoid. I look over my shoulder and scan everybody who walks by me, constantly questioning who left the postcard in my letterbox.

I doubt very much its anyone Christian knows. Who would mess with him? He drove off General Medrano. Nobody knows about me, except baldy, but Christian sorted that out. He gave a stiff and stern warning. Dr. Flynn wouldn't be a bother and I'd actually be relieved if it was him. He can't tie his own shoelaces let alone be capable of hurting me. No way is it Elizabeth or Carrick, it's impossible. They're already getting what they want out of me. I'm miffed at who it is. Maybe some stranger playing a joke? It is coming up to Halloween after all.

I smile when the clock hits five-thirty. I'm free. I collect all of my belongings and leave the office with a slightly elevated mood. Christian will call soon. I can't wait to hear his voice. It's the only thing in this world that could ever make me feel better.

After a quick run around the supermarket to restock my cupboards, I dive into the backseat of my awaiting SUV and shield myself from the howling winds and freezing rain. The traffic is heavy, leaving Taylor and I sitting in comfortable silence as the radio sings from it's cradle. It's dark out and wet, and it's as if everyone has decided to drive rather than take public transport.

"I did a sweep through before I collected you from work, everything is as it should be." Taylor says after eventually breaking from the lines of traffic and parking out front of my apartment. "I'll be back soon to start the night shift, around ten o'clock. I'll be parked across the street all night long, if you need anything just call me." he instructs.

"I will, thank you Taylor. I really appreciate it." My tone is genuine. Now I can sleep without a worry.

"You're welcome, Ms. Steele." he gives me a small smile.

I hop out and dash through the rain to get to my front door, unlocking it with ease and darting for the kitchen. I can't believe it's almost seven-thirty. I put all the groceries away and prepare dinner, leaving the chicken to marinate in the fridge while I go take a bath.

I hum happily while climbing the stairs, my body aching for to be in warm water. It's been a long day and I can't wait to just soak away all of my stress. I bend down into the bath and place the plug over the drain, smiling the whole time while thinking of Christian. He'll be home tomorrow. I get him back all to myself. He'll be home late, so I could wait up in some lingerie . . . a nice surprise for him.

I walk over to the towel rack and grab myself a cloth. Taking the weight of this makeup off my face is going to be a dream. I twist the knob on the sink and grab my wash cloth, lifting my eyes to the mirror and letting out an almighty terrified scream as an extra pair of eyes stare back at me.

 **A/N – PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I love hearing your feedback. It gives me ideas! See you sometime next week. Camilla 'Millie' Rose. Xx.**


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